


Blue Skies

by Nephiliam



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Possessed Jaskier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, but they're not a couple now, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nephiliam/pseuds/Nephiliam
Summary: Jaskier’s eyes were entirely blood red, the same way Yennefer’s had been when she was possessed by the djinn, but the veins bulging from his skin, red as blood, had Geralt sickened. It used Jaskier’s voice to speak. There was an undercurrent of something much lower but all Geralt could hear was his bard.And the way Jaskier’s face contorted into a sneer… Geralt could only think his friend was gone. It would be a mercy to kill him now.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 48
Kudos: 344





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m basing this entirely off the Netflix series and the timeline is pretty wonky between the dragon hunt, Cintra’s fall, and Ciri and Geralt’s meeting. I’ve decided that the dragon hunt happens and Geralt immediately goes to find Ciri. Then Cintra falls, Ciri wanders for about four-ish months, and Geralt and his Child Surprise go straight to Kaer Morhen from there, putting the time between the dragon hunt and “current day” at just over a year. Humor me.

Jaskier kicked at a rock near his foot and huffed. He couldn’t believe the _nerve_ of some people. He had been in town a week staying at The Tailored Pony inn playing his lute and working his charm, boosting business for his formerly gracious hosts. He should have known staying at a fraction of the price for a room would have a catch.

“You owe me!” the owner had yelled after demanding almost every last piece of coin Jaskier had on his person. Jaskier had put his hands up with a disarming smile while babbling about good tidings and hospitality, and how his daughter was truly a lovely girl. And she really was. Six feet tall and strong as an ox with wavy red hair that went all the way down her back; well, Jaskier had been struck with inspiration and had needed to show his appreciation in some way.

More words had been thrown about by the inn keeper along with some serious accusations ending in “you’re a rat bastard for sleeping with my daughter.” It was all very dramatic and Jaskier had decided it was probably best to leave town, especially since the inn keeper’s daughter’s intended was a burly knight who would be back in town any day.

So now he was moving on.

Again.

Alone.

Jaskier was tired of being alone. It was one of the reasons he had slept with that innkeeper’s daughter along with almost every person who had offered him a warm bed or any version comfort along his path. Jaskier was one of the most recognizable bards on the continent and men and women alike proffered him small comforts everywhere he looked. He graciously accepted every offer that came his way. He was so desperate to fill some broken hole inside him that refused to be filled.

Even so, he was having a harder and harder time escaping the dark pit growing in his chest.

Jaskier gave another dramatic huff and rolled his head back, looking up at the blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight and here he was in a sour mood over a little bit of coin. Well. Mostly about the coin.

There had been a shadow following him around since his journey away from the mountain. Away from Geralt and his harsh words. Deep in his heart he knew that Geralt hadn’t meant what he had said, that he was reeling and hurt by Yennefer’s rejections and had lashed out at the closest target.

But still, he was tired of being reminded that Geralt didn’t see him as anything more than an annoying nuisance, and those words had been the final nail in his coffin.

That had been over a year ago.

Since then, Cintra had fallen and any trace of Geralt had disappeared. He had asked around following the news of the kingdom’s fall, just to see – to make sure – that Geralt hadn’t gone for his Child Surprise and been caught up in the destruction. Then he had heard of the Witcher in the dungeon, imprisoned by the Lioness herself, the night before Nilfgaard had taken the capital.

He had stopped asking then. Geralt had to have found Princess Cirilla after that and escaped to the only place on the continent Nilfgaard wouldn’t be able to breach.

Kaer Morhen.

He must have.

Geralt always had a way of leaving the most impossible situations unscathed.

Jaskier turned towards the inn, gave a hand gesture to show them what he thought of their propriety, turned on his heals, and started down his path once more.

Just him and his shadow.

* * *

Geralt listened to the clang of wood on wood, eyes tracking his lion cub’s movement. He hadn’t noticed at first, the possession he felt over Ciri. But as the weeks and months had passed, he knew he would give his life for the girl. He had known the moment their eyes had locked in those woods only now she was something more than that, more than just his ward to keep safe and to train. She was his responsibility, _his_ lion cub.

They had quickly traveled away from the farmer’s hospitable home and toward Kaer Morhen, the only place he knew his lion cub would be safe from the ever-present Nilfgaard armies encroaching in on the continent. The pace had been harsh and there hadn’t been much time for luxury, something he had assumed the princess would be missing after her upbringing in court. But the Cub of Cintra had never complained, never even commented on the lack of accommodations.

He knew she had been through her fair share of hardships since the fall of her kingdom but the very first night they had made camp she had told him everything, spilling everything she had been holding inside her out into the open now that she felt some semblance of safety.

She told him about her grandmother telling her to find him – a shock to Geralt, considering their last visit – about the Elf boy in the woods and the shape changer. Mousesack’s demise to the shapeshifter angered him beyond words but he had let her continue her story, smothering his feelings for another time. Finally, she told him about the man with the black feather on his helmet who had captured her for a brief time in Cintra and what she had done. She spoke of the men in the field, people she had _known,_ and what she had woken up to find.

He wasn’t surprised to find out she possessed the same raw power as her mother but deep down he had been hoping she was just a normal human. Witchers had a very basic ability to use their signs to channel some magic, but whatever power brewed in Cirilla’s veins was far beyond his knowledge. Geralt hoped there would be answers in the records at Kaer Morhen.

Now she fought one of the most fearsome people he knew, Vesemir, with a training sword. They had arrived months ago and Vesemir had wasted no time getting Ciri into a rigid training routine. No one had been surprised to learn she had a basic knowledge of sword training and hand to hand combat, considering who had raised her.

Ciri feigned to her right then ducked low, aiming her blade to kill, as she had been learning to do since they arrived. Always strike to kill. Vesemir saw through her ruse and knocked into her hand, causing the blade to fall. Ciri deftly caught it with her other and brought it around to smack into the old Witcher’s back.

“Good,” Vesemir acknowledged. “Again.”

The two took a step apart and started the dance once more.

Geralt watched from the other side of the courtyard near the entrance. He should have been meditating in the upper rooms of Kaer Morhen, but he couldn’t find it in him to face his thoughts. He found watching the sparring session much easier to handle as it took all of his energy to not rush at Vesemir and fight to protect Ciri.

“Why are you down here again,” he heard a low voice ask. He had heard Eskel coming up from behind him but didn’t need to turn and look at the disapproving frown on his brother’s face.

Geralt gave a noncommittal “ _hmm”_ and kept his eyes trained on Ciri’s feet. They were what gave her away most times; she usually pointed her feet in the direction she was planning on pointing her sword. Vesemir had scolded her countless times over the tell but she had yet to fully correct it, though she was beginning to improve.

“That’s not a good enough answer,” Eskel said, his hand landing on Geralt’s shoulder, forcing him to turn to face him.

Geralt’s eyes met his brother. Eskel, the broad Witcher with a terrifying scar down his face, had always been the softest of his brothers, if soft were a thing you could call a Witcher. He knew when Geralt was hiding something. Lambert, the other Witcher whom Geralt considered a brother and the youngest of the three, on the other hand, would rather give Geralt a fight then have a discussion about…emotions. He hadn’t arrived yet, as it was mid-summer and they usually convened only for the winter. Vesemir had put out a call for the remaining Witcher’s to gather but Lambert was deep in a job and had yet to respond.

“I couldn’t focus on meditation,” Geralt admitted, brushing his brother’s hand from his shoulder. Eskel’s brow furrowed.

“And why’s that?”

Geralt snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You haven’t mentioned your bard once,” Eskel said, hitting the nail on the head in his usual fashion. Geralt’s chest knotted. Eskel always knew. _Why_ did he always have to know? “You usually come galivanting in here with tales of you and your famous bard. But this year you haven’t even said his name.”

“I’ve been…preoccupied,” Geralt responded coldly as he turned back towards Ciri’s training, ignoring the accusation of _galivanting_ anywhere.

And he had been preoccupied. Before he had come back to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had hardly crossed his mind. Only during the long, quiet rides when he would think of Jaskier singing his new tunes, trying to sort them out before going in front of an audience. Or after hunts when he bathed alone, thinking of how Jaskier would plop him in a warm bath and scrub away at monster viscera with an extravagantly scented soap. Or during the cold nights when he’d shiver and think of how warm the bard’s body was, wrapped around his own in peaceful sleep on nights such as those.

Truly he had been preoccupied.

“You’re full of it,” Eskel said. “I know you’ve been busy with Ciri and keeping away from the Nilfgaard armies, but I would have assumed you would have at least mentioned him. Where is he?”

“Jaskier…” Geralt admitted, “…isn’t with me anymore.”

“Died, did he?”

“No.” Geralt’s tone was sharper than he had meant it to be. He took a breath and tried again. “No, he isn’t dead.” Living with Ciri had caused him to reevaluate how he spoke to people, especially the people he cared for. Young women didn’t respond well to grunts and growls, they needed encouragement and moments of affection – though, he supposed it was something that all people needed. It’s what Jaskier had probably needed.

And he had driven him off with harsh words. He couldn’t do the same to Ciri. He wouldn’t.

“I…said…some stuff to him,” Geralt continued hesitantly, still watching Ciri. Vesemir was in the middle of scolding her again about her footing. “Stuff I didn’t mean.”

“You lost your temper again, did you?” Eskel took a step to stand beside him, his eyes still trained on his brother’s face. There was a humor in his voice Geralt didn’t appreciate. “You always have had an issue expressing yourself.”

Geralt gave another noncommittal “ _hmm”_ hoping it would end the conversation. But nothing was ever just _dropped_ with Eskel. He always had to pry.

“Will you go looking for him?”

Geralt’s chest tightened again at the thought. See Jaskier again? What would Geralt even say to try and express his remorse for what had happened?

“Jaskier doesn’t want to see me,” Geralt finally decided after a quiet moment of contemplation. “Not after what I did.”

“I don’t know,” Eskel said, finally turning to walk back into the castle. “Twenty years is a long time for a man to follow you around the continent, singing your heroic praise. Perhaps you don’t give him enough credit.”

Geralt turned to watch him go before turning back towards the open field.

_Well, he has one thing right,_ Geralt thought, eyes turning up to the blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in site. _I’ve never given him enough credit._


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier had finished setting up camp just as the sun fell below the horizon. He had thought to reach a town by midday but, by some twisted step of fate, he had either gone the wrong direction, or he hadn’t been walking as fast as he’s thought, because he had yet to stumble upon even a sign of civilization.

It had actually been almost a week since he had seen another face, which was a startling realization as he felt as if he had only left the previous town a day and a half ago.

Jaskier sat by the weak fire in the small clearing he had found just off his path, his lute sitting beside him, as he chewed on a piece of dried meat. His rations were beginning to dwindle, and he’d have to find food soon. And preferably a nice warm bath. And maybe even a warm body to share his bed with, to fill the horrible emptiness for a time.

His mind drifted to his Witcher, as it often did when he sat by the fire after dusk. He could pull out his lute to smother the thoughts, but sometimes he let himself wonder what Geralt was doing. If he had to put coin on it, he’d bet that Geralt was brooding somewhere by himself or, more optimistically, training the Lion Cub of Cintra.

He liked to think Geralt had found his Child Surprise. He knew it would fill the hole Geralt had been trying to escape. Skipping out on Destiny was never a wise option and Cirilla was a wonderful girl. Jaskier had played at feasts in the Cintrian court every season so that he could check up on her, knowing Geralt wouldn’t. Jaskier had never mentioned it to him, though. The last thing he had wanted was for Geralt to think he was meddling. 

Finishing off his meat, he took a pull from his waterskin and finally pulled his lute into his lap, brushing his fingers against the grain of the wood. He still had the lute from his first adventure with Geralt. The instrument was the finest piece of art that he had ever laid eyes on, and he supposed it probably had a touch of magic laced through its design, as the upkeep was almost nonexistent. He still had to replace the strings every now and then, but it was nothing compared to his old lute that had been smashed to pieces.

With a sigh, he pulled the strap over his shoulder and began to strum a quiet tune, something he had been working on in private before Geralt had banished him from the mountain. It was a tale of friends and of something more, and of the feral emotion he felt every time he heard his Witcher say something unkind about himself.

Oh, how Jaskier hated Geralt’s self-deprecation. The man saw himself only as a monster meant to live on the outskirts of humanity, someone who was occasionally allowed to observe but never participate. Someone not worthy of any type of acceptance or love.

Yennefer had helped with that last bit, at least for a little while. No matter what Jaskier felt about that horrible, beautiful, terrible witch, she did seem to satisfy his desire to be wanted, at least for brief moments.

Jaskier had heard talk about the Battle of Sodden Hill and what Yennefer had done, sacrificing herself for the mages who still fought, keeping Nilfgaard from breaching the tower’s walls. There hadn’t been a sign of her afterwards or there since, though there were rumors she had turned into Chaos itself. While believable, Jaskier doubted that was actually the truth of the matter. Yennefer had probably disappeared into hiding, taking over some lording’s castle to convert it into another one of her creepy orgies where the guests seemed to not know what they were doing.

Maybe she had even run to Geralt for protection, though Jaskier quickly derailed that thought. If they had reconciled after what happened by the dragon’s lair, leaving Jaskier to take the brunt of the rage and unsaid emotions, he…

Well, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He doubted his shadow would ever go away if that were the case.

Still, he strummed at his lute and hummed. There were lyrics for this love song, but he couldn’t find the energy to say them aloud. He hadn’t been able to say them aloud for a long time.

There was a crack of a branch behind him and Jaskier stopped his ministrations, his body tensing for a moment. He turned to peer behind him.

There was nothing and he let out a breath.

Then came another crack, his time from his side and his head turned again. While his eyes still perceived nothing, he could feel himself tensing, sensing the threat that could appear at any second. Traveling with a Witcher for two decades certainly had given him a keen sense for his surroundings.

More cracks of branches and rustling of leaves began to sound in the forest around him. He pushed his lute to his back and stood, reaching for the dagger on his ankle, the one Geralt had insisted Jaskier train with early on in their travels, specifically because the bard had kept begging to go along and watch Geralt fight. He was by no means an expert, but twenty years of practice had made him a threat.

“Hello?” he called, his voice high and friendly, though it wasn’t what he felt.

**_Oh, little songbird_**.

A deep voice, as if made from the very ground itself, rose around him. Jaskier yelped, jumping slightly, turning in a circle with his dagger outstretched. Still nobody appeared.

“Has someone come for a performance? I’m happy to play for an audience,” he babbled. Geralt always found his tendency to talk when he was scared annoying but Jaskier thought it was a strength. If you could keep someone occupied with pretty words, they very rarely saw what your body was doing until they couldn’t stop you. He had used that as an advantage countless times in his life.

**_You don’t recognize me? We’ve been together awhile. Just you and me._ **

The voice seemed to echo around him. Jaskier still couldn’t tell where it was coming from and kept a slow pace, turning in a circle, his back to the fire now, eyes scanning the tree line.

“I might recognize you if you were to step out of the trees,” he responded. He could feel the panic begin to bubble in his gut, along with something else. Something dark.

**_I’ve been following you, you see._ **

“Then show yourself!” Jaskier shouted unwillingly. He hadn’t meant to shout. Usually he was quite good under pressure, but he could feel sweat on his brow. Adrenalin ran through his veins. He was ready for a fight if it came to that.

**_I’ve been watching you since the mountain._ **

Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat but still he paced, one arm up defensively, the other holding the dagger outstretched. He gave a deep breath.

“That was over a year ago,” he finally said, slowly drawing out the words, eyes still wildly searching the woods, trying to find the source of this voice. “There’s no way anyone has been following me that long –” he was interrupted by a stinging sensation on his back, like an icy palm placed directly on his skin. He whirled, his defensive arm whipping back to hit at whatever had touched him. Still there was nothing.

**_I watched your Witcher break your heart, so I came to take his place._ **

Involuntarily, Jaskier snorted, though there was no humor to it. The stinging moved to his chest and his hand rose to meet it, wincing at the pain.

“What are you?” he demanded, his voice faltering on the last word. He felt his frenzied panic burst inside him and, more suddenly, the darkness start to rise, the one that smothered his other emotions and pulled him into dark thoughts.

**_I can help you_**.

The stinging on his skin spread and he dropped to one knee, his breathing coming in labored huffs, pain stitching itself over his being.

And deeper, he felt something take hold of him, like a hand on his heart. His very thoughts began to whither and he couldn’t piece together a coherent sentence. Words escaped him and the only emotion that he could still recognize was fear.

**_Let me help you_**.

Jaskier’s mouth opened to scream but by the time he could muster the energy to make a noise, he was already gone.

* * *

Geralt was leaning his elbows on the wooden table in the dining hall, thinking, when Ciri walked in, a bright red mark across the right side of her face that matched the width of a training sword. Geralt winced slightly as she plopped beside him, her wide grin a stark contrast to her wound.

“I was able to hit Vesemir today,” she bragged, leaning her elbows on the table in a similar fashion to Geralt. “I think I actually took him by surprise this time.”

Geralt doubted that was true but didn’t voice his opinion. “You’re improving,” he said instead. “I’m proud.”

Her smile beamed brighter at the praise before growing a little serious and turned to straddle the bench they sat on together, fully facing him. Geralt braced himself for a ‘talk’. She did love giving those these days, especially since she had begun spending more time with Eskel.

“I want to start practicing my magic,” she said.

Geralt sighed. “You can protect yourself better with a sword and physical training,” he responded. He had gone through hardly a quarter of the books that still remained in the once impressive library, though many of the records had perished since the sacking of Kaer Morhen.

“You always say that,” she said, the response prepared. They had had this talk many times in the months they had been there. He didn’t want to try controlling a power they knew nothing about. He had been at Pavetta’s betrothal feast, he had seen what that power could do. Geralt didn’t know if he could bear to watch Ciri go into the same strange dissociative state that Pavetta had gone into.

“Once we know more about it, we can focus on your powers,” Geralt reasoned. It really was the same thing he always said.

“I want to find Yennefer.”

At that Geralt tensed. This was a new turn in the conversation. He hadn’t seen Yennefer since that fateful day on the mountain when he had lost the two most important people in his life. If he thought Jaskier didn’t want to see him, he _knew_ Yennefer didn’t.

“I haven’t seen Yennefer in a long time,” Geralt finally said, searching Ciri’s eyes for some sort of understanding. He _couldn’t_ see Yennefer again, not after he had tied their fates together and then withheld that information. Besides that, their relationship had been erratic. All they did was fight, fuck, and leave each other. She had been addictive but harsh.

And in the year they had been apart, he had realized she wasn’t the person he missed.

“I know where she is,” Ciri said.

Geralt grunted, eyes searching Ciri’s face before sighing and bowing his head. “The dreams.”

When Geralt and Ciri had first found each other, Ciri had asked who Yennefer was and Geralt had been honest. She was a powerful person who Geralt had hurt long ago, someone who didn’t want Geralt around anymore – leaving out the explicit details that no one, especially his Child Surprise, would want to hear. Ciri had told Geralt about her dreams, how sometimes she had these vivid nightmares about specific people and what they were doing or what was to happen to them.

She had seen Yennefer burn on Sodden Hill.

“She’s behind a wall of Chaos,” Ciri continued. “But she’s about to step out from behind that wall. A woman found her. A scared woman.”

Geralt listened intently, though his head was still bowed, his eyes closed. He could picture Yennefer, hurt and in hiding. But he had no idea who this scared woman could be.

“She’s another sorceress,” Ciri said. “Powerful. Familiar.”

Geralt looked up to meet Ciri’s eyes. “Do you know why the woman is scared?” he asked.

Ciri paled slightly and nodded.

Geralt reached out and grasped her hand, a deeper frown etching into his face. He nodded for her to continue.

“There’s a presence,” she finally said. “Old and haunted. Evil. I don’t know where it came from, or why it’s here, but that’s why the woman is scared. She needs Yennefer for something.”

Geralt pulled his cub into a strong embrace and she wrapped her arms around him. He could feel the shiver she gave off. “It will be alright, Ciri,” he soothed, one hand on the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

The medallion pressed between him and Ciri began to vibrate just then. Geralt’s ears perked up and he pulled Ciri closer to himself, tense and protective. She twisted in his arms as a swirling portal appeared in the dining room of Kaer Morhen, something that shouldn’t be able to happen.

Geralt growled and stood, pushing Ciri behind him, putting distance between them and the portal.

As Eskel and Vesemir came running, their medallions warning them to the presence of magic, Yennefer of Vengerberg stepped into the dining room.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaskier lay in darkness. He couldn’t see the ground he was on or anything around him. He couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t make his hands reach or his legs stretch. His thoughts were slow and sluggish, and he had trouble remembering what had happened.

A voice roused him.

**_Poor little songbird_**.

It was so close, pressing in around his body, as if someone were lying on top of him, talking. But this didn’t startle him. It didn’t make him feel anything, actually.

**_Your heart is filled with longing and hurt_**.

Memories came back at the sound of this voice. His camp being invaded by it, his body writhing in pain. Still, no images of the owner of his voice popped into his head and no emotion stirred in him.

**_That’s because I haven’t shown you what I look like_**.

At that, Jaskier’s vision began to fill. An image of him standing back in his camp on that clearing assaulted his vision; he could see himself standing as if it wasn’t his body. He focused on details, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. He still wore his traveling minstrel clothes, the strings of his chemise were open and his leather trousers were covered in dirt. He hadn’t changed into his sleeping clothes yet, though his doublet was laid carefully out by the rest of his things.

Much to his dismay, his lute lay face down by the fire. He felt a surge of panic for the instrument rise in him, but it was quickly dampened until he could only feel uncomfortable.

He finally looked at his own face and he knew he should feel horror for what he saw.

Red eyes, like blood had filled his vision field, with tendrils of red seeping under his skin surrounding them, like his veins were overflowing. His mouth was upturned in what he could only assume was meant to be a grin.

It was then, miraculously, that Jaskier found his voice.

“Cute fellow,” he said.

**_Thank you._ **

Though he still couldn’t make sense of where he was or how he was talking, he could move his eyes and had the overwhelming sense that something was _pressing_ on him, on every surface of his skin, as if to contain him.

**_I’m quite pleased with this vessel. I never thought I’d find one with old magic in its blood, let alone a bird so close to my target._ **

“I’d be happy to take it back,” Jaskier offered with mock sarcasm, overlooking the comment about his blood. He didn’t even know what that meant. He felt something push heavy on his chest and suddenly he was aware of his strained breathing. Panic started to rise in him but again the emotion was pushed down to a dull sense of wrongness.

**_I do love that mouth of yours_**. **_There aren’t many creatures willing to spar with one such as myself, although I can already tell it will grow annoying._**

“I’ve heard that before,” Jaskier wheezed, the pressure growing heavier. Melitele’s tits, maybe he should stop talking.

**_Yes_** , **_that Witcher of yours._**

“If you’ve been around since the mountain…” though Jaskier was struggling to breath now, he’d be damned if he couldn’t get the last word in, “…you’d know he isn’t my Witcher.”

**_Songbird_**.

Its whisper was soft, and he could almost call it gentle if it weren’t for the harsh pressure causing him to suffocate.

**_We both know that you think of him,_ dream _of him in. You want him to hold you, to care for you. You want him to embrace you as no one has ever done before, the same way you have done for him._**

Jaskier suddenly couldn’t handle the taunting. Frustration started to well in him and something tried to suppress that feeling, as it had the rest of his emotions, but he wouldn’t let it. He was _angry_. How dare this thing use his feelings for Geralt to ridicule him. The only one allowed to do that was himself.

**_Hm…_ **

The voice seemed to hum in his head.

**_Stronger than I thought. Maybe you’ll last me longer than anticipated_.**

An overwhelming amount of fear washed Jaskier’s anger and frustration out from him and another, deeper thing that Jaskier knew wasn’t his.

Pleasure.

Sudden images of Geralt flashed before his eyes and his fear was overtaken by absolute horror.

In one Geralt had his sword run through Jaskier’s body, his eyes cold and unfeeling; Jaskier could feel the sword in his gut as he bled out. In another Geralt had his hands around Jaskier’s throat, strangling the life from him; Jaskier could feel his windpipe being crushed. Hundreds of images came rushing before him, and in every one of them Jaskier was dying at the hands of Geralt.

But then they got worse. Geralt was dying now, by Jaskier’s hand. Betrayal screamed in the Witcher’s eyes as they glared at Jaskier, hateful and dying. Princess Cirilla was there too, always nearby, always crying.

Jaskier strained to close his eyes, to close out these horrible images, but he couldn’t feel his eyes anymore, couldn’t feel his body, or his breathing. The images kept coming, each more graphic than the last, each cruel and horrible.

The pleasure that wasn’t his began to grow in his belly at Jaskier’s horrified feelings.

The voice resonated in his head, silencing any thoughts, any emotion other than the ever-present pressure of _fear_.

**_This is what we’ll do, songbird._ **

**_This is where we’re going._ **

Finally Jaskier regained his voice, but all he could do was scream.

* * *

“Yennefer,” Geralt growled, trying not to look shocked at her appearance.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Vesemir demanded. He had stopped on the other side of Yennefer and Eskel had moved to stand behind her, effectively surrounding her. “We don’t allow sorceresses in Kaer Morhen.”

Yennefer’s eyes stayed on Geralt. This woman stood surrounded by three fearsome Witchers with such an air of confidence and nonchalance it seemed as if she thought she could take the three of them down without so much as lifting her arm. Perhaps she could.

Despite her usual air of confidence, she looked tired, more tired than Geralt had ever seen her. Her beautiful, violet eyes had bags underneath them and she seemed to slouch under the weight of her silk dress. He wasn’t sure anyone in the room could see the weariness in her eyes.

“What’s your business?” Vesemir demanded again.

“I’ve come as a favor for Tissaia de Vries,” Yennefer said, finally breaking her gaze and turning to look at Vesemir. “Rectoress of Aretuza. She needs the help of the Witchers.” She looked back at Geralt. “Of a particular Witcher, actually.”

“That’s why she came looking for you,” Ciri said from behind Geralt, her head peaking past Geralt’s outstretched arm. “She knew you’d know how to find Geralt.”

Geralt looked sharply down at her just as Yennefer saw the blonde girl.

“Your Child Surprise, Geralt?” she asked, voice hard and sarcastic. “Glad to see you finally taking some responsibility.”

“Why do you need _my_ help?” he asked, pushing Ciri farther behind him. He didn’t want Yennefer to know her, to recognize her face. Ciri pushed back though, trying to meet Yennefer’s gaze. But she was looking at Geralt again, accusatory eyes sharp.

“Because of what we’re fighting,” she said harshly. “This is a favor to you too, Geralt. There’s a reason you’re the Witcher I came to find.”

“What are you fighting?” Vesemir interrupted. Yennefer broke her gaze again to look at him.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Geralt almost flinched at her words. He had heard that tone directed at Vesemir before and it hadn’t ended well for the recruit who had done it.

But Vesemir just crossed his arms. “I’m the caretaker of this place, as well as that man who you keep barking at,” he said.

“Ah,” Yennefer said. A large grin broke out on her face and Geralt wanted to pick Ciri up and leave the dining room to escape that grin. “Vesemir.” She turned to eye Geralt’s brother then turned back to Vesemir. “And that one’s Eskel, right? Geralt’s told me all about the two of you.”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” Eskel said, slowly walking around Yennefer to stand beside Geralt. “One of the only people to frequent Geralt’s stories.”

“Geralt has talked about me, has he?” Yennefer smirked towards Geralt and he had to suppress a growl.

“What are you fighting, Yennefer of Vengerber?” Vesemir asked again.

At this, Yennefer’s smirk fell, her eyes became cold, and her already heavy posture seemed to droop more.

“We’re not sure. It’s why we’ve enlisted the help of a Witcher.”

“What would the Rectoress of Aretuza not know that we would?” Vesemir asked.

Yennefer sighed and shook her head. “Old magic. Older than both of us. And dark.” She turned towards Geralt again. “And it involves a friend of yours. That grating, love-sick bard that follows you around?”

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s breath caught. He hoped no one noticed the tension in his voice, or the way his stance shifted. The knot in his chest he felt whenever he tried thinking about the bard for too long tightened painfully. “What does this have to do with him?”

“It seems he’s become an energumen, though we don’t know what it is that’s possessed him. Not a demon that we’ve ever seen. We think someone summoned it from beyond this plane.” She shook her head, her brow furrowed slightly. “We do know…” she continued, meeting Geralt’s hard glare, “…that it has a purpose.”

“How do you know that?” Vesemir asked.

“Because he’s coming this way.”

Geralt felt like his chest was going to burst, his mind reeling at this information. Eskel hadn’t moved from his side and he could feel his brother’s hand on his shoulder trying to…comfort him? Geralt couldn’t tell. Ciri had wrapped her arms around his other side, sensing his distress. “He’s leveling townships as he goes, leaving few alive to carry his message.”

“What’s his message?” Eskel asked. Yennefer turned her attention back to Geralt with a bored expression. He couldn’t meet her gaze, not unless he wanted to throw her into a wall and force her to open a portal to Jaskier. Instead he had to turn his gaze down to Ciri, her eyes on Yennefer but her attention obviously on Geralt. The poor thing was too aware of other people’s emotions. He couldn’t tell if it was part of her power that gave her that ability or just something humans could naturally do. He supposed Jaskier was the same way.

“‘The Lion Cub’s Destiny is sealed’ is what the last child to escape alive said.”

Geralt growled, low, and Ciri pushed closer into his side.

“So, Cintra’s princess is your Child Surprise?” Yennefer asked, though he suspected she had known that before coming to find him. “Hell of a lead to bury, Geralt.”

“You’re safe here, Ciri,” Eskel reassured her, ignoring Yennefer’s comment. “You’re surrounded by some of the most deadly and accomplished fighters this continent has ever known.”

Yennefer snorted at that. “She’d be safer somewhere that the _literal monster_ inside of that bard isn’t aware of. The only reason it knows where she is, is because you told your bard.”

“Don’t put this on Jaskier,” Geralt growled, tearing his eyes away from Ciri, torn between his instinct to protect her and his instinct to defend Jaskier. Where had that feeling been on the mountain? His chest burned in shame at the thought. “He doesn’t even know where we are.”

“And why isn’t he here, Geralt?” Yennefer barked, stepping closer to him. “How could this have happened in the first place? It’s mid-summer, why is he not with you? He’d never leave your side.”

Geralt’s throat closed at that, the accusation rippling in the air.

“The only way for someone to be so thoroughly possessed is if his soul had been cracked,” she continued, now within a foot of him, her voice rising. “They can’t just slip into a person and take control. They wait it out, wear them down until their host is _broken_. What did you do, Geralt?”

“That’s enough!” Vesemir bellowed, finally putting a silence to Yennefer. If Geralt hadn’t been so lost in his thoughts and the pain in his chest, he would have been impressed – few people could silence Yennefer so effectively. “If everything you say is true, then we need to exorcise the thing.”

Yennefer shook her head. “This isn’t a simple demon that can be exorcised. This thing has magic that hasn’t been recorded in Aretuza’s written history and that can’t be traced. The only reason Tissaia became aware of it is because it started killing people. We don’t even know how long it’s been inside him. It’s possible this thing has been with him –”

“A year,” Geralt interrupted. All eyes turn to him and he shook his head slowly, trying to think of what to say. “It’s probably been with him for just over a year, though I couldn’t tell you when it took possession of him. Recently, if I had to guess. I doubt something that wanted Ciri would wait longer than it needed.” He could feel Yennefer’s eyes burning into him. It must have clicked that whatever had happened to Jaskier did so on that mountain.

Eskel nodded at this. “And if this thing can kill in such large numbers, it’s probably one the most powerful entity that’s walked this plane.”

“Not necessarily,” Vesemir said, still standing on the other side of the room. He had a hand on his chin, thoughtful. “My guess is it’s tied to this plane because it made a bargain with someone, which has increased its capability greatly. It needs Ciri to complete whatever it’s end of the bargain is, then it will either be sent back to where it came from or it’ll be set free into our world.”

“It must be looking to get set free,” Eskel said. “But who would set that kind of destructive power onto our world?”

“I know someone,” Yennefer muttered. “Although she must have some way to keep it at bay and away from her people.”

“Then it has a weakness?” Ciri asked, slowly unwrapping herself from Geralt. He let his hand fall away from her.

“What happens if we kill it’s host?” Yennefer asked. Geralt’s eyes snapped to her, a warning written across his face, though she shrugged at him.

“Then it would just find another host to complete its task,” Vesemir said.

“It had to have chosen Jaskier for a reason, right?” Eskel asked. “It can’t be a coincidence that it chose the bard.”

“Of course it’s not a coincidence,” Yennefer said condescendingly. “It knew the princess was Geralt’s Child Surprise.”

“Why not possess Geralt then?” Ciri asked. Geralt would have been proud of how strong her voice was if he had been paying any attention to the lot of them.

“Witchers are awfully hard to possess,” Eskel responded. “Our mutations make us all but immune.”

Geralt couldn’t take the chatter anymore. He gave a final glance to Ciri, her eyes focused entirely on Yennefer, before removing himself from the group. He could feel Yennefer’s sharp, judgmental glare on his back. He didn’t know why she cared so much; she didn’t even _like_ Jaskier, something she had made abundantly clear from their time together.

As he passed Vesemir, a hand landed on his shoulder. Geralt glared at the interruption.

“Go meditate,” Vesemir commanded. “You can’t put it off anymore. You need to think about what you want.”

Geralt hesitated. “Keep an eye on Ciri. I don’t want Yennefer alone with her.”

Vesemir nodded, then Geralt stalked off to find somewhere quiet to be alone with his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier must be in Hell.

Every inch of his being trembled as he watched what his body did, though he wasn’t always sure what was happening was real. He would be in a village he didn’t recognize, slaughtering people, when Geralt would show up and die alongside the townsfolk. Sometimes the two of them would exchange words, heated and hateful, and other times Geralt would just be another face he cut down.

Jaskier was certain he really was killing people. There were too many faces he didn’t know, too many towns.

But he knew Geralt hadn’t died by his hand.

Geralt wouldn’t have come.

 ** _You’re pitiful_**.

The creature possessing him used Jaskier’s own voice to speak out loud as Jaskier watched his hand strangle the life out of a young man. Sickeningly, Jaskier realized he was starting to grow numb to the killing. He ignored the faces now, tried to block out the eyes of the dying and their screams. But the way the man’s eyes began to pop out of his head made him want to start screaming all over again.

The creature began to laugh in a way Jaskier wasn’t aware his vocal cords were capable of and let the body drop from his grasp. He had learned its name, Melouge, though he wasn’t sure if that was its true name or just a jumble of letters it liked.

**_Why love a monster such as that?_ **

Jaskier was certain Melouge only used this same taunt because of how angry it made him.

“He’s no monster,” he spat back, though any concept of a mouth existed outside of Jaskier’s range of knowledge; as far as he knew, he was only a bundle of nerves now, and a consciousness. What he considered talking was the same as what he considered thinking. Though his mind separated the actions, Melouge could hear both. “Geralt feels more than you ever will.”

Whenever he fought back like this, he could feel Melouge’s pleasure deep in his belly. It had stopped suppressing Jaskier’s emotions once the killing had started. The creature seemed to feed off of Jaskier’s fire and, unfortunately for Jaskier, he had plenty of fight still for his Witcher. The idea of an _actual_ monster thinking itself better than Geralt of Rivia? Insulting. Jaskier would fight until his last breath for his Witcher; whether the man cared or not, Jaskier wouldn’t stop. He had spent too much time trying to turn the opinion of humanity in favor of his friend, he would be damned to stop now.

Which is exactly why he thought himself in Hell.

The slaughtering ceased; the man he had strangled was the last person here, there was no one left in this village to kill.

 ** _Whoops_** , Melouge said sarcastically. **_Didn’t mean to kill them all. How will they know I’m coming if I don’t send pigeons ahead?_**

Jaskier didn’t know who _they_ were, but he was sure that, whoever it was, they’d know. Jaskier had been through at least four towns by now, varying in sizes. Sometimes Melouge left a human or two alive, whispering a message about the Cintrian Princess.

Sometimes, though, it seemed to forget, losing itself too far in the pleasure of killing. In moments like that, Jaskier tried to retreat into his own head to quiet the violence. Melouge would always be there, though, telling him what his own body was doing, who he was killing. The horror and frustration Jaskier would respond with would make Melouge laugh and the pleasure in his stomach build. 

**_You should be excited_** , it purred.

Jaskier, for the moment, could feel some semblance of his body. He looked down at his hands, covered in blood, and felt his stomach churn. There was a cut on his arm that burned something fierce, though he knew it would heal in a matter of minutes if the creature wanted it to.

Melouge did this sometimes, before a particularly harsh round of verbal sparring. The first time he had been given his body back, he had tried to run, though there was nowhere to go. The second time, he had tried to kill himself in another desperate attempt to escape. The third time, he had cried.

**_We’re going to see a friend of yours._ **

He didn’t need to guess which friend that was; Melouge only ever spoke about one friend. But it certainly made his blood boil.

“You’re no match for Geralt,” he hissed.

**_You think he can hurt me?_ **

Jaskier could feel the humor in the way it said that and more anger grew in him, along with the horrible pit of pleasure Melouge got from the emotion.

**_My dear, pitiful songbird._ **

A coldness crawled up Jaskier’s spine, the same sharp icy pain he’d experienced every time he was allowed to feel his body for a moment. It meant his brief moment in the real world was coming to an end and he’d return to living as an onlooker in his own life.

Jaskier didn’t fight to keep control, not anymore. If he did, he’d have to watch a montage of Geralt and him killing each other, as he’d done a dozen times now. Each time, he felt himself slip farther and farther away, as if a piece of his soul withered away with every death.

**_I doubt Geralt would harm a hair on this body’s head. I’ve been watching you two for a long time, songbird._ **

Jaskier couldn’t tell if its words were a joke or not but before he could give it much thought he could just barely feel a hand, his own hand, raise to his face and stroke his cheek. It was the only gentle touch he’d felt since entering this horrible void and he craved more, wanted to lean into the touch, even though it was only his own hand. He missed sensations, missed touch, and smell, and taste.

And then the feeling was gone.

He was back to being a bundle of nerves where he could do nothing but watch and think and curse Melouge.

Jaskier fought the urge to scream. He had to keep control. His mind was the only thing left that was truly _his_.

**_Is it?_ **

Thinking and speaking were the same thing here, Melouge could hear him either way but if he could pretend he was talking, maybe he would last. Maybe he wouldn’t give in to whatever horror lie down that path. Maybe he could figure out a way to escape.

“Geralt will cut you down,” Jaskier forced himself to say, though he was again without a mouth. “Even if he takes me down with it.”

 _Especially if he takes me down with it._ The thought came unwilling and he knew Melouge could hear it.

**_We’ll see._ **

* * *

Geralt had been meditating the better part of a day when he reached his conclusions.

Part of him wanted to go down to the library where Yennefer was and apologize for…everything. But he was still raw. Everything that had happened with Yennefer had also happened at the same time as the stuff with Jaskier. He knew his apology was something that needed to happen, something he needed to do if either of them was to find peace. Perhaps they could even be friends someday, if Ciri’s dreams were to be believed, which they always were.

But his focus couldn’t be on Yennefer. It had to be on Jaskier.

Vesemir had told him to figure out what he wanted.

Geralt had realized quickly that his words on the mountain were what had broken Jaskier so thoroughly – Yennefer’s horribly truthful comments in the dining room had pushed him to that realization fast – opening the bard up to whatever it was that possessed Jaskier’s body. The hard part was to accept why they had hit his bard so hard. But Geralt had been at it for long enough to realize what it was.

Jaskier had heard of Cintra’s fall and he had most certainly heard rumors that Geralt had been there when it happened. Jaskier must have taken Geralt’s words to heart when he had said he blamed him for his Child Surprise. He must have been writhing with guilt thinking Geralt had perished with the kingdom, thus making him vulnerable to this otherworldly attack. Whatever it was that was possessing him must have stumbled upon them at the mountain and then attached itself to Jaskier, feeding on the guilt since the fall of Cintra, pushing Jaskier to think Geralt had been correct to place the blame on him.

Of course, there was another reason, one he _wanted_ to believe but couldn’t accept as the truth. That Jaskier had been heartbroken by Geralt’s words.

But that was almost too much to bear.

To consider that Jaskier had felt love for him, no matter what kind, had Geralt’s chest hurting so much that the pain of it had shown on his face. Geralt had covered his feelings down for so long, pushing the bard away with cheap shots about his talents, his wardrobe, and his attitude, that the notion that Jaskier had felt even a fraction of what Geralt did caused his mind to spin into a panic.

So it wasn’t that.

Jaskier had always felt some unreasonable responsibility for Geralt, perhaps because his music had put him in the spotlight. It made more sense that Jaskier felt guilty. Geralt had said it was his fault after all, the djinn, the Child Surprise, and, he supposed, even Yennefer was included in that list; he wouldn’t have met Yennefer if not for the djinn. And he had blamed Jaskier for what Geralt had thought was heartbreak when, in reality, was just an inevitable parting.

He put his head in his hands, not for the first time that day.

Geralt truly was the stupidest man of them all.

“You can say that again,” Yennefer snorted from where she stood in the doorway. Geralt didn’t startle but he hadn’t heard her coming, too absorbed in his own misery and the comfort of being in a familiar place to notice her presence.

“Get out of my head, Yen,” he growled.

“I hardly needed to listen to your thoughts, it’s written all over your face,” she said.

Yennefer wore the same violet dress she had appeared in, the color matching her brilliant eyes. An oddity suddenly struck him. Every time he had seen her there had been a pull in his chest, begging him to get closer. But now… there was nothing besides his annoyance at her presence and the sensation that something had changed, something beyond their words on the mountain.

“I feel it too,” she said, finally stepping into the room. “Or, I don’t feel it too.”

“Why is it gone?” he asked, eyes narrow, searching hers for some sign of a trick. He wouldn’t put it past her to conceal this emotion from him for a little while only to have it come thundering back at the worst possible moment.

“Princess Cirilla,” she said, casual. He growled at his cub’s name and Yennefer rolled her eyes as she moved to sit in a nearby armchair, crossing her arms as she sat. “Destiny didn’t want _us_ to come together,” she explained slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Destiny wanted _Ciri_ and I to come together. The best way to do that,” she motioned between the two of them, “…was for us to stay connected in some way.”

“There are easier ways to have done that,” he growled. 

“Yes, because we are the easiest people to manipulate.” The note of humor behind her words settled something in him, something angry. She did have a point.

But there was something in her words that seemed…right. He had always interpreted his pull to her as sexual and – though he would never admit it – romantic. Even after everything they’d done to each other, he knew she had to stay in his life, one way or another. That was his doing.

The idea that Destiny wanted Yennefer around for Ciri’s sake was troublesome but, somewhere inside himself, Geralt knew that it was correct.

Fuck.

“I suppose…” he struggled to find the words, “…if Destiny wanted you to be here…for Ciri…then it would be unwise to continue to resist it.”

“Why thank you for your blessing, father,” she snarked. He leveled her with contempt in his eyes for moment, then sighed and had to look away. She had never been one to back down from a staring match and he didn’t have the energy for it.

“Yen why are you really here?” he finally asked. It had been itching at him since she had given her reasoning in the dining room. It hadn’t made much sense to him. After a year without contact, and months keeping herself in hiding to heal, saying she had come as a favor of all things was quite flimsy.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was here for Tissaia. I’ve seen that woman nearly dead and she was still as strong as a mountain. Ruffled, but strong. This has her shaken almost as much as Nilfgaard’s invasion does. The thought of her not knowing something…” Yennefer had a small grin as she said it. “Why, I think that’s gotten under her skin a bit.”

“There are plenty of things witches don’t know,” he muttered.

“Sorceresses,” she corrected, a little irked. “And, in all actuality if we don’t know it, we can find the information quite easily. We have written records going back almost to the Conjunction of the Spheres that, while incomplete, is quite useful.”

“And there was nothing about possession,” he snorted. “Sounds like its more incomplete than you think.”

“There’s nothing about possession causing a man to look the way your bard looks.”

Geralt’s heart wrenched and he felt his breathing catch. Yennefer certainly noticed the sudden change at the mention of Jaskier.

“What did you do, Geralt?” she asked, gentle. Most people assumed Yennefer was not capable of gentleness and, most of the times, she wasn’t. Not unless she cared.

“You don’t even like Jaskier,” he snapped. “Why does it matter what I did?”

“You’re right on that account,” she agreed. “I think he’s an annoying little fly that I had never given much thought about beyond swatting.” Geralt glared at her, angry at her blasé attitude towards someone who meant so much to him. “Exactly,” she smiled. “He matters to you.”

“Get out of my head, Yen,” he growled again.

She waved him off, still smiling, thought it was small and sad. “He means so much to you Geralt, he always has, even when you couldn’t admit he was a friend. That bugged me. This annoying little fly means so much to you in a way I never could.” She caught herself at that and grinned. “Not that I would ever follow you around for decades, begging for your attention. I thought he was quite pathetic for that, actually. Loyal. But pathetic.”

“Caring doesn’t make someone pathetic, Yen.”

“No,” she agreed. “But following someone around who’s as cruel as you does.”

And again, Geralt’s breath caught for a moment.

“What did you do to him, Geralt?”

That question again. He didn’t want to admit it.

But here was Yennefer, poking at the walls he had carefully built up around his and Jaskier’s relationship, making sure it was _less than_ ¸ insignificant, something he didn’t care about. And Jaskier was in danger because of that, because of what Geralt had said to protect himself.

Gods, he saw the selfishness in that.

“I blamed him…” he hesitated, thinking of how to word it without showing how much saying it hurt. “…for you…for the djinn and for the Child Surprise. For bringing me to court.”

“And?”

Of course she knew there was more.

Fucking witches.

“If life could give me one blessing…” he said, quiet and defeated, “…it would be to take you off my hands.”

Yennefer was silent as she took the words in, considering them, rolling them around her head.

“Saying you were cruel is an understatement,” she finally said, her voice bored but her eyes sad. He looked down again, unable to keep her stare. “I think that’s the first monstrous thing you’ve ever done.”

Geralt’s face crunched at that, as if she’d hit him. She might as well have, using that word he’d been trying to hide from. Monster.

“I’m not going to berate you,” Yennefer sighed. “You know what you’ve done. The only thing you can do to make it up to him is to get him out of this mess and hope he forgives you.”

“Who would forgive a monster?” he growled; teeth clenched. He wanted to scream, to tear things off the walls, to rip his fucking chest open. Monster is as monster does.

“Probably someone who’s never thought of you as a monster.”

With that, Yennefer stood and left the room, leaving Geralt’s eyes to chase her back and think if he could ever ask for such a thing from someone so good.

Vesemir had told him to figure out what he wanted.

Well, Geralt knew what he wanted.

He wanted Jaskier back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the continued support! I'm really excited to be sharing this with everyone. This is my first fic in six years and I'm just starting to get back into the groove of writing so seeing the comments and kudos has me smiling every time. Thank you again!
> 
> Alright, enough of me. Back to the show.

Fire burned Jaskier’s fingers and his body levitated in the air. Melouge was destroying a forest just for the pure enjoyment of watching it burn. Jaskier couldn’t find it in himself to care, neither about the destruction or the fact his body was _literally_ _flying_. An ever-present fatigue had settled over Jaskier. Every time he tried to fight it was an effort and his retorts had grown lazy. He had finally stopped differentiating speaking and thinking, the concept becoming something he couldn’t grasp anymore. And why did it matter? Melouge could hear him anyways.

 ** _I thought you’d last me a little longer_**.

Melouge was angry at him, he knew, though he didn’t know what creature could stand this type of torment for so long.

**_Your Witcher would have been able to._ **

Yes well, Geralt could do just about anything. Kill a troupe of bandits, get the girl, save the day, and look broodingly sexy the whole while. Why not just possess him next time? There was no reason to get Jaskier involved at all.

**_Possessing your Witcher would take a century of work. I don’t have that kind of time._ **

Jaskier hesitated at that. Melouge had a time limit?

**_Why do you think I’m here, songbird? Do you think hunting a baby bird for a flock of crows gives me enjoyment?_ **

Now that was interesting. Jaskier could feel his spirits rise a little. If Melouge had a time limit on how long it had to find Princess Cirilla, perhaps he could push himself far enough to last that limit.

Pleasure started to swirl around him again and Jaskier wanted to groan.

**_I’d like to see you try, songbird._ **

Well, Jaskier loved a challenge. Leaving home had been a challenge. Leaving Oxenfurt had been a challenge. The very love of his life had been a challenge. If Melouge was presenting him with another challenge, maybe he could figure out a way to face it without losing himself.

More pleasure stirred at that. Melitele’s tits, Jaskier hated that sensation, hated knowing Melouge was getting _joy_ out of Jaskier’s pain and frustration.

The fire stopped falling from Jaskier’s outstretched hands and he slowly floated back to Earth, eyes taking in the sight before him. Something Jaskier had never known was how loud so much fire could be. A campfire cracked and popped while it burned, but a forest _screamed_ as it died. The animals screamed, the trees screamed, the very air itself screamed. Jaskier wanted to join the chaos, to set his body on fire and let himself scream until he was nothing but ash.

Something stirred in his gut again at that thought, though it wasn’t pleasure. Something about that statement pained the creature and Jaskier had a sense that his words were dredging up old memories. What was it Jaskier had thought that Melouge didn’t like?

But Melouge turned, having sensed something Jaskier couldn’t, eyes narrowed, searching.

**_The witches keep spying on us._ **

Jaskier didn’t know how it could possibly know that, but he was sure it was right. Someone had to come investigate the chaos and death that followed them. Perhaps they would even take the message to Geralt, though that thought made his heart twist. Gods, he wished he’d stop feeling hurt every time the thought of his Witcher came up.

**_You won’t have to wait much longer now. We’ll be there soon._ **

Jaskier hadn’t actually been told their destination, but if they were going to find Princess Cirilla and Geralt, there was only one place they could possibly be headed.

They were going to Kaer Morhen.

* * *

Geralt had made a decision, one that he didn’t like, but a decision nonetheless.

If Destiny wanted Yennefer in Ciri’s life then he wasn’t going to fight it, but it did mean he was going to lose his Lion Cub sooner than he had anticipated.

He found the two of them in one of the lower level libraries, along with Vesemir who had promised not the leave them alone, although it was long past the time he would have excused himself for bed.

Geralt watched them for a moment. Ciri had been talking up a storm, asking Yennefer questions about magic and the places Yennefer had been. She still had the mark from the training sword on her face, though it was a little smaller and turning yellow. Vesemir was in a corner, reading a book while occasionally lifting his head to watch Ciri. He had surely noticed Geralt’s presence but didn’t make a move to acknowledge him, letting Geralt a moment to observe.

Yennefer was surprisingly good with the child, answering each question in turn and even smiling at some of the more naïve comments Ciri made. It twisted Geralt’s heart watching the two. Ciri opened herself up easily to new people, a surprising feat for someone who had been through her turbulent past, but the way she seemed so comfortable next to Yennefer on the loveseat made him sad. He didn’t want anyone to be as close to her as he was.

“Are you going to stop brooding there in the doorway and come in?” Yennefer asked, her lead lolling so she could rest her bored gaze on him.

“Geralt!” Ciri squeaked, standing up.

Geralt strode into the room and Ciri quickly moved to be close to him, wrapping her small arms around him in an embrace.

“You’ve been at it for two days,” Ciri continued, moving back slightly to look up at him but never losing contact. “I thought you’d never be done.”

“I had important things to decide,” he responded, giving her a small smile while running a hand over her hair. “But I’m done now.”

Vesemir stood up at this, nodded to each person in the room, and moved to leave.

“Goodnight, Uncle Vesemir!” Ciri called after him. Vesemir always paused when she called him that and Geralt knew the old Witcher appreciated the term. He gave her another small nod before leaving.

Geralt turned to look at Yennefer but she was already standing. “I’m going to get some sleep as well,” she explained, eyes running over Ciri. When Ciri made a noise of protest Yennefer said, “We can talk more in the morning,” before also taking her exit.

“Does that mean I have to go to bed too?” Ciri asked. “I haven’t seen you in two days, not since you stormed out of the room when Yennefer appeared.”

“Not yet,” Geralt agreed. “We have something we need to talk about.”

Ciri sighed and nodded before moving to the loveseat. Geralt was more hesitant going to sit but once Ciri patted the spot beside her he sat. The way Ciri looked up at him, expectant and trusting, made his heart twist tighter than it was already wound. He needed to do this though, for her protection.

“You’re going to be spending some time with Yennefer,” he said hesitantly. Ciri’s face lit up, not quite understanding what he meant by that.

“You’re going to let me learn magic?” she asked excitedly.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, I mean, if that’s what you want to do.”

“You know it’s what I want to do!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been asking for months!”

“I’m glad that’s settled,” he said, still trying to work out how to word this next bit. He didn’t want to take that happiness from her. “The issue is…” he hesitated again, reaching for the right words. Ciri was looking at him expectantly again, worry marring her face. “…you can’t stay here.”

And finally her face fell. “You don’t want me here anymore?” her timid voice asked.

“Not at all,” Geralt immediately said. “You know that if I had it my way you would never leave my side.” He clasped her hand in his, squeezing slightly, trying to make the words express how he felt.

“Then why do I have to go?”

“Because whatever is inside Jaskier wants you,” he said. “And I can’t let it have what it wants. If I fall to whatever that creature is, I need to know that you’ll be safe.”

“Why can’t you just come with me?” she pleaded, a whine rising in her voice. It was times like this he had to remind himself that she was a child and her world was small. “Why can’t we all go somewhere to be safe together, like a family should be?”

“Because…” he looked down at their conjoined hands, “…because I left a member of my family alone. Before I met you. And I can’t leave him to this fate. I can’t leave him again.” He looked back at Ciri’s confused eyes and saw tears welling up. He took a deep breath and continued on. “Please believe me when I say that I am trying to do what’s right. It’s all I’ve ever tried to do. And I failed Jaskier, I didn’t do what was right by him. I did what was easy.” Tears pooled over and dropped down Ciri’s face. “I will not do that again, not to you. The best decision is to have you go with Yennefer while I face this monster.”

“But what if you die?” she cried, her body shaking slightly, desperation creeping into her words. “What if you can’t beat it? What if it kills you?”

He tried smiling, just a little, hoping it would put her at ease. “Thanks for the confidence,” he joked. When that didn’t appease her question, he sighed and shook his head. “If it comes to that, then at least I’ll know you’re in the safest place you could be with someone who would do anything to protect you.”

“I won’t leave you,” Ciri said forcefully, her body still shaking, her anger rising. “I’m not going to let you face this on your own!”

“Yes, you will,” Geralt said. “This isn’t your battle to face.”

At that Ciri pulled from his grasp and screamed, a powerful force expelling from her, pushing Geralt back into the loveseat. Every nerve in Geralt’s body rang and his medallion vibrated violently on his chest.

Ciri stopped, putting her hands over her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered over her fingers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

With every ounce of him still ringing, he opened his arms and she fell into them, softly crying against him.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” he said. “It’s alright.”

They sat like that until Ciri fell asleep in his arms, cradled to his chest. Even then, Geralt couldn’t bear to move her; it could be the last time he would hold her like this, at least for a while, knowing she was safe in his arms.

At some point he closed his eyes as well, allowing himself to sleep for a couple of hours and regain the energy he had spent in the last couple of days to the emotional fight he’d had.

While there were no windows in the library, Geralt’s eyes opened with the sun rising, his internal clock telling him it was time to get up.

Ciri, still fast asleep against him, didn’t stir as he picked her up and carried her to her own bed. She awoke for only a minute as he set her down, allowing herself to find a comfortable position, before falling back into her peaceful slumber.

Geralt made his way to Yennefer’s room, stopping outside and determining she was awake by the regular heartbeat on the other side of the door. She opened it without him needing to knock and stepped aside to let him in.

“You need to leave today,” Geralt said as she closed the door. “When Ciri wakes up.”

Yennefer, lounging in a nightgown he knew did not come from the castle, sat on the side of the bed, legs folding and arms leaning back to support herself. Geralt was struck again by the notion of their changed bond. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a bedroom of hers without almost immediately pouncing at her. She grinned dangerously and raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Do you want to have a go one more time,” she offered. “Just for old time’s sake?”

Geralt glared at her. At least she didn’t seem as tired as she had when she had first appeared in the dining room. “How are you aroused at a time like this?”

She shrugged and fell back onto the bed. “I’m not, particularly, but you make a very attractive argument.”

“I haven’t argued anything” he growled. “And no, I don’t want to fuck you Yennefer.”

She shrugged again. “Just thought I’d put it out there, you’re so tense.”

“Of course I’m tense!” he snapped. “I’m giving you my –” he cut himself off and breathed angrily through his nose. He tried again. “I need you to take Cirilla somewhere safe, somewhere no one could find you no matter how hard they looked.”

Yennefer nodded. “Yes, I know what you’re asking, and I already know where we’ll go. But we’re not leaving today.” Before Geralt could argue she held up a hand. “You have no idea how to defeat this thing, Geralt. I’m not going to let you face it without any sort of strategy. Besides, at the pace this thing is moving, it’s still at least three days out.” Geralt just huffed at her.

Yennefer rose from the bed to stand by him and placed a hand gently on his arm. “We’ll find a way to kill it, Geralt.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed and he looked away from her, contemplating the words to voice his concern. “And Jaskier…?”

Yennefer shrugged. “I can’t help with that. He might die. He might not. He’s been with that thing for so long, I don’t know how removing it will impact him.”

“He can’t die, Yen,” Geralt said, an edge of desperation slipping into his voice. “I can’t…I can’t let him die.”

Yennefer patted his shoulder then turned away from him. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “There are plenty of books in these libraries of yours. We’ll do our research before you face whatever it is that’s possessed your precious bard.”

Geralt decided to leave it at that and left the witch to her thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaskier had just finished watching himself murder the population of another village, leaving only a small boy alive to carry on the same message that every other person had been told. He could feel Melouge’s desperation to be done with this monotonous killing, to finally reach its prize.

In moments when Jaskier had the mind to, he prodded at Melouge, trying to get answers without pushing the monster far enough to cause him pain. It was a delicate balance that Jaskier had yet to accomplish, but he had learned a few things about it.

The main thing he knew was that Melouge didn’t think it could be defeated. Every time Jaskier tried implying Geralt would cut them down, Melouge would laugh at him, low and terrible. Sometimes it would reply that Geralt wouldn’t hurt a hair on Jaskier’s head, which wasn’t true, and sometimes it would talk about how even the most cataclysmic event their world has ever known couldn’t kill it, which meant Melouge was old. _Really_ old. A kind of old that Jaskier couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around.

He also knew, from experience, that the creature was not infinitely powerful. While it could set whole places ablaze, occasionally hover, and had enormous strength, Jaskier would sense a weariness sometimes, as if these acts drained it. He presumed that was the reason they walked everywhere they went, instead of just floating about this way and that. However, Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure how Melouge refueled that power. They never ate and never slept. They would stop walking awhile to look up at the sky with longing, which was as confusing for Jaskier as anything else happening. Sometimes he thought Melouge got power from taunting him, though their verbal spars had gotten sparse since they had gotten closer to Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier, of course, didn’t recognize where they were, because Geralt had never allowed him to get anywhere near this part of the world. Even back then, Jaskier had known without being told that Geralt didn’t want him anywhere close to his home, the only place Geralt could go to get away from him.

Well, as far as he could tell, they were close. He could feel the anticipation building, both his and Melouge’s. It wanted to be done with this game. It wanted Princess Cirilla.

What would a monster even want with the princess? Who commanded such a creature so that it could act as an errand boy of all things?

**_No one commands me._ **

Melouge grew angry at Jaskier’s words but didn’t react with throwing pain at the bard. Instead it stopped walking to look up at the sky, blue and cloudless, the wind gently rustling Jaskier’s hair. The perfect day.

**_I missed the sky_ **

Jaskier tried not to act surprised that it was divulging its emotions to him, but it was hard not to. Most of the time these quite moments were hateful, with spitting words to cause anger and pain. This was unusually gentle. Sad, even.

Jaskier wondered where it could have possibly been that it hadn’t seen the sky.

**_In the dark. As you’ll be soon. I can feel your energy fading, songbird. You’ll be lost to time soon._ **

Jaskier shuddered. He wasn’t ready to die, especially if Melouge still had time left to complete its bargain.

**_I’m sure your Witcher will suffer without you. I’ll make sure of it._ **

There was that hateful tone Jaskier had grown accustomed to. Well, two could play at that game. Wherever Jaskier was headed, he was sure Melouge would soon follow.

**_You have too much faith in that monster._ **

Jaskier’s fury stirred at that, causing Melouge to laugh, a sound that reminded Jaskier of a landslide. Oh, how Jaskier hated that laugh.

**_He tossed you aside like you were nothing, songbird, just a bag of bones to take his anger out on._ **

True, Geralt had hurt Jaskier beyond compare the last time they had seen each other. Jaskier also knew that Geralt would never be able to fully accept anyone as fragile as him into his life. It was another reason Jaskier had finally left. Jaskier would die and leave Geralt standing for an eternity on his own. Best to face the pain now.

**_Clueless as ever, songbird._ **

Jaskier didn’t understand what it meant but he could feel Melouge’s pleasure swirl around him, poking him like a childhood bully with a stick.

**_You don’t even know what you are._ **

Jaskier knew exactly what he was – disowned heir, bard, and loyal friend. There was nothing that made him extraordinary beyond his talents on a stage and in the bedroom. He was a normal person.

**_A normal songbird with the blood of a newborn running through his veins._ **

Jaskier certainly didn’t know what _that_ could mean. Jaskier was nearing his mid-forties, there was nothing infantile about him.

Melouge only laughed again, like gravel grating against eardrums.

**_If I were to possess any other vessel, they would have been dead in hours. You’ve lasted me so long, songbird. There’s a reason for that. Your blood carries old magic, from a time before the rest of the flock came swarming._ **

Jaskier still didn’t understand. He was human. His parents were human. He knew that.

**_Not all humans come from a time after the collision of worlds._ **

Jaskier’s mind swirled at that information. It couldn’t be the truth. All this thing did was lie and taunt him. This was just another trick.

**_Believe what you wish._ **

After that, Melouge left him alone, though it basked in the feel of Jaskier’s confused thoughts.

He was just a regular person. He ate, bled, and shat like a regular human. He knew that he looked young for his age, his hair hadn’t started to grey and he hadn’t a wrinkle to show for the traveling he’d done, but he used at least four different creams on his skin and the highest quality hair products on the continent. Jaskier was sure that, without the constant primping, he would look like an old bat.

He could remember though, the stories from when he was just a boy. His grandmother liked to sit him by the fireplace and talk of magic and spells and people who never died. She used to say their family was the oldest on the continent, but she hadn’t really meant it. All grandmothers told that to little boys by fireplaces. All grandmothers wanted their grandchildren to feel special.

It didn’t mean it was true.

**_Get excited, songbird._ **

Jaskier was brought from his thoughts to take in the scene before him. They stood atop a hill, looking miles ahead.

There, hidden on the side of a tall mountain, stood the outline of a castle.

Kaer Morhen.

**_Let’s put an end to this, shall we?_ **

* * *

Geralt was pouring through tome after tome in the library when Yennefer came striding in with a book clutched to her chest. Everyone in the castle had been inspecting separate libraries, as Kaer Morhen had several, though Ciri had been bouncing between them all the entire day trying to be useful in any way she could. After some prodding, Geralt had convinced the girl to take a break in the library he was looking through to give herself a moment to rest. She had begrudgingly agreed but had pulled a large book into her lap as she did so.

“I’ve got something,” Yennefer announced, setting it over the useless book Geralt had been looking at. “This talks about events from the days directly after the Conjunction of the Spheres.” She leaned over his shoulder and flipped to a bookmarked page and pointed. This tome was easily the oldest thing Geralt had ever laid eyes on. “Right here.”

He leaned over the book to peer at the words.

“It’s…in Elder,” he muttered. “I don’t read Elder.”

He didn’t have to look at her to guess that Yennefer was rolling her eyes. Ciri had made her way to them as well, looking over his shoulder.

“It says something about a monster. It was called upon by Elves who sought for the end of humankind,” Ciri read from beside him. “The monster was pulled into the body of a human and it was unleashed.”

Both Geralt and Yennefer looked curiously over at the girl. She glanced at them. “What?”

“Who taught you how to read Elder?” Yennefer asked. Ciri shook her head.

“I can’t read Elder.”

Geralt and Yennefer exchanged glances but silently agreed to bring that up another time.

“She’s right,” Yennefer said. “It also goes on to mention that it was destroyed by humans wielding dimeritium.” Geralt grunted, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve heard of sorcerers overcoming the effects of dimeritium,” Yennefer continued. “Though I now believe it’s because sorcerers are largely human. Magic wasn’t theirs to take and there were no natural defenses in place against them. But dimeritium has been on this world long before we came here. It makes sense that it works completely on creatures who were here before the Conjunction of the Spheres. Before humans.”

Geralt stood, holding the book, though he couldn’t read it.

“Ciri, go get Vesemir and Eskel and tell them to meet us in the dining room.”

Ciri nodded and dashed off, eager to help.

Geralt turned towards Yennefer.

“A thank you would be nice,” she said, folding her arms. “I’ve found the answer, you needn’t look so worried.”

“The book says dimeritium killed the creature,” Geralt said. “What does it say about the human?”

Yennefer scowled. “It says that it had more than one host,” she responded. “That it had to jump from body to body because they kept dying. But it doesn’t matter. This is the only way to keep Cirilla and the entire continent safe from this thing.”

“It matters to me,” he growled, trying to push the image of Jaskier’s corpse from his mind. “And how are we supposed to use it to kill this thing? Stab it through the heart? Wrap it in chains?”

“It doesn’t say!” she yelled, fury in her eyes. “But it’s more than anyone else has come up with!”

“It’s not much if we don’t even know how to use it!”

They stood, glaring at each other, a contest of wills underway.

Geralt was the first to break. He turned and, in a fit of rage, threw the book against the side wall, crashing into the shelf and causing a couple books to fall to the floor. He was breathing hard, furious that the answer was so close but so far.

“Is this what your precious bard has to look forward to if he comes back?” Yennefer taunted from behind him. Geralt whirled on the woman, showing him a face only the creatures who died by his blade ever saw. She was walking a thin line talking about Jaskier right now. “What if Cirilla came in and saw you like this?”

That caused a piece of his anger to deflate. Yennefer was right. He would be mortified.

“You can’t blow up and throw things around every time you’re mad,” she said, walking towards the door, eyes cold. “You’ll just push him away again.”

He was left standing by himself in the library, his breath raged.

She was right, of course.

Fuck.

He took a moment to settle his breathing before following her towards the dining room where everyone had already convened.

Yennefer was in the process of explaining what she had found when a chill went down his spine at a sudden presence in the air. Everyone but Ciri froze at the sudden change they all felt.

Powerful magic was nearby.

“Yennefer get Ciri out of here,” Geralt growled.

Ciri shot up from where she was sitting on the bench and ran at him, wrapping her thin arms around him as she had done so many times before. He allowed himself only a moment to embrace her before pushing her towards Yennefer.

A portal appeared in the same spot it had less than a week before, engulfing the room in a purple hue.

Yennefer tossed something to him. He caught it out of the air and looked down. A vial of liquid.

“Break that vial if you live,” she said. “It’ll let me know where you are. I’ll come find you.”

He nodded his thanks. “Eskel, Vesemir, go with them. This is my battle.”

“This has been my home for longer than you’ve been alive,” Vesemir responded gruffly, arms folded. “I’m not leaving.”

“This is my home too,” Eskel said, standing by the old Witcher.

“No.” Vesemir reached out and put a hand on Eskel’s shoulder. “You go with the girl. She needs someone to keep her sword training sharp for when she comes home.”

Geralt’s heart swelled at the comment but didn’t give himself time to bask in it. “Yennefer go, _now_.”

Yennefer gave a sharp nod and took Eskel and Ciri by the arms, dragging them towards the portal.

“Geralt, wait!” Ciri cried. But she was dragged through the portal and it vanished, leaving only the two Witchers in the hollow glow of torchlight.

Geralt stared at where the portal had been a second ago, trying to get control of his emotions.

“Geralt!” Vesemir’s voice barked, pulling him from his thoughts. “Your witch said we needed dimeritium. I have a small stash of it in the arsenal, both cuffs and a dagger.”

“What were you preparing for?” Geralt asked, surprised that he had more than just a small ring of it anywhere in the castle. They hadn’t had the coin for such expensive items in a long time.

Vesemir shook his head and the two started towards the weapon’s room. “You never know what you’ll be facing these days.”

Geralt grunted.

They finally reached the arsenal and ducked inside. It wasn’t as empty as it had been since the sacking of the keep, with a few items replenishing their stocks every time any of the Witchers came home, but it was still lacking.

“I don’t know if I can hurt him, Vesemir,” he finally admitted.

“Trust me when I tell you,” Vesemir said, opening a chest near the back of the room. “Whatever has hold of your friend, death might be a mercy.” He held out a small dagger and a surprisingly heavy set of handcuffs. “You’ve always done what you’ve had to do.”

Geralt hesitantly tucked the dagger into his boot and slung the cuffs to his belt. “I’m going out there alone, Vesemir. This may be your home, but this is my fight.”

Vesemir searched his eyes for a moment the nodded. “If the fight starts to turn, I can’t promise I will just sit and watch you die.”

Geralt hesitantly nodded at that.

“Oh.” Vesemir dug deeper down into the chest and brought out a small vial of liquid metal. “I have this too.” Geralt tucked the vial into his belt and pulled out the one Yennefer had given him.

“Hold onto this,” he said. “If I fall, I don’t want it to end up in the wrong hands.”

Vesemir accepted it with a nod.

Then Geralt turned and marched up the stairs, the hollow sound of his boots focusing his mind on whatever lay ahead.


	7. Chapter 7

Jaskier stood outside of a large gate, the top reaching far higher than he would ever want to be unless surrounded by four very sturdy walls. He could feel the chaotic energy swirling around his very being. He watched as Melouge raised his hand and pressed it against the wood. Jaskier realized he could feel the grain and, horrified, he realized Melouge was going to make him feel everything that happened when they faced Geralt.

He flinched as the fire began to engulf the gate, watching as it slowly crept to the very top. Pain blossomed on his fingertips as they allowed the fire to expand and he was back to wanting to scream. But he was only the passenger. There was nothing he could do or say. It didn’t take long for the gate to fall. 

Melouge lifted his body into the air to get the rest of the way to the courtyard. Jaskier would have thought it flashy if he weren’t so terrified of what lie ahead.

And there he was.

The most beautiful and terrible sight stood just ahead at the entrance of the castle.

It took a trained eye to see Geralt flinch at the sight of him.

Logically Jaskier knew Geralt was probably flinching at the state that Jaskier’s body was in, but it hurt nonetheless to see the man so disgusted by his presence. Gods, he wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

“ ** _Witcher_** ,” he heard Melouge say with his own voice, though underneath he could hear the distorted voice he usually heard in his head. They overlapped one another like a duo from the very pits of Hell. He absently wondered if Geralt could hear the same thing he could hear, or if it was only the bard’s voice that spoke to him. “ ** _It’s so nice to see you again_**.”

Geralt stood with both swords in hand, pointed down at the ground by his sides. It was so casual, the way he held them, no threat in his stance or positioning. Jaskier had seen those blades cut so many creatures down, human and monster alike. He may not be in a fighting stance, but it was a threat to just be holding the blades.

“Let him go,” Geralt called, his voice low.

Melouge chuckled and Jaskier could hear more of its own voice leak through. “ ** _Or what, Witcher_**?” it taunted. “ ** _You’ll cut us down_**?”

Geralt flourished both blades, letting them swing around his hands.

“ ** _Scary_** ,” Melouge laughed, waving his hands in a mannerism Jaskier recognized as his own. Geralt growled at him and repositioned slightly, his feet sliding apart and his knees bending.

“I will cut you down if I have to,” Geralt warned. Jaskier wanted to shudder at the threat. “Or you can leave peacefully. This doesn’t have to end with you dead. Let him go and return to whatever pit of Hell you crawled out from.”

Jaskier’s face contorted in a horrific sneer and Melouge shook his head, growling almost as low as Geralt could. “ ** _I don’t belong there. This was my home first. I want it back_**.”

“What are you?” Geralt demanded. Gods, this was the most Jaskier had ever heard from the Witcher. With a terrible thought that he knew Melouge could hear, he realized that Geralt was stalling. There was probably another Witcher getting Ciri out of there as fast as he could by some back route from the castle. The longer Geralt talked, the farther away she got.

Melouge growled, “ ** _Give me your baby bird and I will give you your songbird.”_**

Geralt sneered at him. “Not much of a trade.” Jaskier flinched at that, his mind recoiling as if he’d been slapped. It was a trade he wouldn’t have taken either if he had been where Geralt stood, but it was a harsh way of putting it. Just another reminder that he meant so little to Geralt.

Melouge’s sneer widened into a terrible smile, feeling the pain inside of Jaskier pushing it to an almost euphoric happiness. “ ** _That one hurt him_** ,” he taunted.

Geralt faltered.

“ ** _Ah, you see, songbird_**?” Jaskier was forced to watch Geralt’s eyes widen at the words. Had Geralt not known he was in there? “ ** _He does_ _care._** ”

“Jas –” Geralt cut himself off before he could say anything more, taking a deep breath and steadying himself. “Jaskier. I’m not going to let you die.”

“ ** _Then you’d better hurry_** ,” Melouge hissed, crouching slightly. “ ** _His time is almost up_**.”

* * *

Geralt had been so taken aback by the way Jaskier looked he wasn’t sure what to say or think. Jaskier’s eyes were entirely blood red, the same way Yennefer’s had been when she was possessed by the djinn, but the veins bulging from his skin, red as blood, had him sickened, as they covered almost his whole face. It used Jaskier’s voice to speak. Though there was an undercurrent of something much lower, all Geralt could hear was _his_ bard’s voice. It had him wanting to tear his hair out with fury.

And the way Jaskier’s face was contorted into a sneer… Geralt had thought his friend was gone, so suppressed by whatever this monster was that it would be a mercy to kill him.

Then Geralt had said another awful thing about Jaskier and it had started _talking to Jaskier_ and Geralt’s heart had wretched.

Perhaps it was a trick to get him to back down and hand over Cirilla, maybe his friend really was dead.

But if there was even a chance Jaskier could be saved…

The thing jumped, flying up into the air, arching the great distance between them, and fell towards him. Geralt threw the blades to the side, unwilling to cut Jaskier’s body, and put his arms up as the thing crashed against him, a force heavier than Jaskier’s body pushing him into the bricked ground of the courtyard.

Geralt was able to get a grasp on Jaskier’s ankle for a moment before it was wrenched away, coming to land against his temple, throwing him back. He landed hard on the ground and rolled. He reached for his belt and quickly downed one of his healing potions, letting it steady his spinning head before standing.

Jaskier’s body stood next to the crater where it had fallen, hands on his hips and a smirk on his face. Not the monstrous one Geralt had seen before the thing had attacked, but a normal one, one that Jaskier would show him before telling him he had done something stupid. Geralt wanted to reach for him, cradle his face, and tell him he’d be okay.

“ ** _Tick tock, Witcher_** ,” Jaskier’s voice taunted. Geralt suppressed a shudder.

Jaskier’s body lunged again, crossing the large distance in a matter of seconds.

Geralt dodged Jaskier’s fist and brought his arm down, hard enough to bruise but not enough to break. He shouldn’t be pulling punches, he knew that. But it was still Jaskier’s arm, even if it was attacking him, he couldn’t put his strength behind it to actually hurt him.

Jaskier’s other arm came up and slammed across his chest, burning him as he fell away at some distance again. The creature was there where he landed, bringing a leg down to smash him into the ground.

Geralt lay there for a moment, looking up at that terrible face. He could see the veins in Jaskier’s face pulsing with each breath he took. They wound their way around that terrible smile, the one that was too big on Jaskier’s face. 

Geralt took a breath and finally allowed his mind to go numb, moving any affection he had for the possessed body fall back behind the wall he had built long ago to deal with his emotions.

“ ** _He never thought you’d fail,_** ” it taunted, bringing its face closer. “ ** _He’s always tried to fight for you and for what? For you to –_** ”

Geralt didn’t let it finish. He reached up and slammed his head into the one above him, causing the thing to be blinded for a moment. A moment was all Geralt needed to pull himself out of the crater he lay in and grab its arm before bringing a fist into its stomach. The momentum would have flung the thing away if he hadn’t been holding onto it. He swept its feet out from underneath it, forcing it to its knees.

The thing’s other arm came up, its hand bright red. Geralt allowed himself to be grabbed, the flesh below his elbow sizzling painfully. Ignoring the bright spark of pain, he grabbed the hand burning him with the one that was already gripping its arm. He knew he’d be able to hold these wrists easily as, before this body had been possessed, Geralt had been able to grab its wrists like this.

Geralt reached with his free hand and quickly worked cuffs off his belt and onto the struggling wrists.

The moment the dimeritium touched its skin the thing began to scream, horrible and loud, a sound that Geralt knew wasn’t just from the host body but from the monster inside it. He pushed away from the thing struggling on its knees as it screamed and twitched. Geralt could see a red gash where the cuffs touched skin and the veins on its wrist started to bulge and turn purple.

It screams slowly choked off, though its frame still moved hard with its breathing as it got the pain under control. It turned its gaze towards Geralt and he saw that its appearance hadn’t changed. This time when it spoke it didn’t use the body’s voice, its lips didn’t even move, though a twisted, open mouthed smile remained on its face.

**_It will take more than a little metal to push me from this plane, Witcher._ **

Geralt leaned down to eye level and pulled the blade from his boot. Without hesitation he pushed the side of the blade against its throat, hearing the hiss of the metal. “What are you?” Geralt asked.

Its body withered at the touch of metal, trying to push as far away from it as it could. Geralt brought a hand to the back of its head, fingers entwining in its hair, forcing it against the blade. The skin on its neck began distorting at the metal, turning purple and bulging the same way the skin on its wrists had.

“What are you?” he repeated.

Its eyes narrowed at him, hateful.

 ** _Melouge is what I’m called now_**.

Geralt let the blade tilt slightly, letting the sharp end of the dagger draw out a line of blood on its throat. His mind began to disconnect farther from the situation than it already was.

**_You would let the vessel die?_ **

He responded by pushing the dagger harder into its skin. The blood sizzled against the metal.

**_I’m a Phoenix._ **

Geralt almost started laughing right then and there. He knew what a Phoenix was supposed to look and act like, and this certainly wasn’t it.

**_I’m from a time before your kind marred this ground. Before the worlds collided. Powerful magic turned me and all of my brethren into little more than energy and sent us to another plane to suffer._ **

“If the rest of your kind is there…” Geralt could hear his words but he was so disconnected from his body it almost seemed to be someone else talking, “…why come back?”

**_A witch pulled me back here and told me of her plight. She offered me a bargain. Find their baby bird and return her to them unharmed. Then I could walk this plane again, free to live, free to fly. Another of my kind came back here centuries ago, after we were pulled away, and never returned. They must be here somewhere; I must_ _find them._**

Geralt could hear the pain in its voice now and it caused him all at once to come back to himself, realizing it was _Jaskier’s throat_ that he pressed a dagger too. It was Jaskier’s blood he was spilling.

He quickly withdrew the blade as he felt Vesemir’s presence in the courtyard.

“It’s time, Geralt,” Vesemir said. “You need to end this.”

Geralt looked to the old Witcher who was walking towards the pair, then back to the creature. Its red eyes darted between the two of them. Geralt still had a hand clutching Jaskier’s hair, keeping his head firmly in place.

This thing was pitiful now that Geralt could get a good look at it. With dimeritium holding its power back, it was just a creature in a tight cage, unable to free itself or fight.

But it wasn’t enough.

“I’m not killing him,” Geralt said.

“We don’t know how long the dimeritium will hold,” Vesemir responded coldly.

“And we don’t know putting a dagger through his chest will do anything either!” Geralt yelled back.

The Phoenix’s eyes continued to dart between the two as they talked.

“We can use the liquid dimeritium,” Vesemir said. “There’s a chance it will expel the creature without outright killing the bard.”

Geralt’s stomach twisted and looked back to the skin on Jaskier’s neck where the dagger had been. If that’s what it did to skin, he didn’t want to imagine what it would do to organs.

The Phoenix began to laugh, horrible and bubbling, like it was choking. Jaskier’s body jerked like he was the one laughing, although his mouth had closed.

**_If I’m leaving this plane without finding the missing member of my flock, I’m taking your precious bard with me to replace them._ **

Geralt growled at the thing and it laughed harder.

**_Make your choice, Witcher._ **

“You came looking for someone who entered this realm long ago?” Vesemir’s voice cut through the monster’s laughter and Geralt’s twisting thoughts.

The Phoenix stopped laughing and turned to stare at Vesemir.

**_Do you know where they are?_ **

“Dead.”

The thing began to laugh again just as the pieces clicked in Geralt’s head. The Phoenix was looking for the creature that was pulled to this world by the Elves so long ago. The one that had been destroyed by humans.

**_You can’t kill us, we are eternal. From the ashes we forever rise._ **

“Sure,” Geralt answered, meeting the things gaze. “Maybe before the Conjunction of the Spheres. But, if what you say is true, then you’re no longer a Phoenix. You were turned into something else when the worlds collided.”

**_Impossible. A Phoenix is what I am, nothing could change that_.**

“You wouldn’t know anymore,” Geralt said. “You haven’t had to die in centuries.”

“Our records show that the creature who was pulled here died by the hands of humans,” Vesemir agreed. “If you say it never returned then there’s only one possible conclusion.”

The Phoenix didn’t say anything, eyes wildly searching between Geralt and Vesemir, searching for some sign of deception.

Then it began to scream.

A horrible burst of power pushed Vesemir and Geralt back, forcing them to retreat away from the creature, their ears risking the threat of breaking from the sound alone. The very stone beneath Jaskier’s knees began to shake from the force of it.

Geralt could see tears, red as Jaskier’s eyes, streaming down its face.

Fire began to swarm around Jaskier’s trembling form like a barrier.

“Jaskier!” Geralt yelled, trying to push past the intense sound to reach him. But Vesemir had his arms around Geralt’s chest, holding him back, dragging him away.

“Jaskier!”


	8. Chapter 8

Jaskier screamed with Melouge, their pain intermingling, becoming one horrible force. He watched as a fire made of every color he’d ever imagined engulf his body, the flames dancing across his skin without so much as marking him.

Jaskier had been as surprised as Melouge to learn a member of its flock had perished at the hands of humans. He had also been surprised to learn Melouge hadn’t agreed to the bargain only to see the sky and fly.

It had wanted to fly with someone it had loved so long ago.

An enormous amount of pity had risen in him as Melouge had realized what had happened. Jaskier was reminded of the Elves during his very first adventure with Geralt. This was just another creature who had drawn the short end of the stick in comparison to humans. It just wanted to survive.

Melouge had felt his pity and tried pushing it down, but the force of Jaskier’s emotions had always been hard to suppress, even for him.

Melouge had lost control with its own composure cracking and Jaskier fighting its will.

And now they screamed together in a harmony of agony.

_“Jaskier!”_

Melouge and Jaskier both stopped screaming at Geralt’s voice, deep and worried, ringing through their combined pain.

Hate reached towards that voice. Melouge wanted to go to him and force every ounce of suffering upon that body as if it were Geralt’s fault that humans had slayed a Phoenix centuries ago.

“You lost the one you love,” Jaskier struggled to say out of his own mouth. “I’m not letting you take mine.”

And he _pushed_.

He pushed Melouge down in the same way he had been pushed down for weeks, for _months._ Melouge had been with him since that mountain and had only caused Jaskier to shut down and feel miserable. It had been following him, playing with his broken heart, so that it could take over his body.

But Jaskier wasn’t going to allow that anymore. Melouge was just as weak as him. It ached for a long-dead love, crossing into another plane just to fly with a memory.

Well Jaskier’s love was still here. He was only a courtyard away. And Jaskier wasn’t going to let Melouge take him away again.

Geralt may not love Jaskier the way that Jaskier loved him, but he wasn’t going to hide from his feelings and disappear with his tail between his legs. He was going to confront Geralt for the pain he had caused, and he was going to forgive him.

He’d always forgive Geralt.

Melouge struggled to take control, horrible images in the fire dancing across his vision. Jaskier watched as him and Geralt killed each other again and again.

Its voice rose up, angry and loud.

**_You’ll never get what you want from him._ **

**_You’ll never be the most important person to him._ **

**_He will always choose someone else._ **

The horrible moment on the mountain played out in front of Jaskier and Geralt’s words rang out as they had so many times before in his head.

_“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”_

Jaskier didn’t flinch at those words, not the way he used to. He rose to the challenge now.

“That’s the thing about Witchers,” he said. Slowly, he pushed himself off his knees and to his feet. “Life has rarely blessed them.”

Melouge raged at him and, in the tunnel of fire that surrounded him, Jaskier saw what Melouge used to look like. A horrible, beautiful beast that was vaguely bird shaped rose around him, as tall as the castle that stood behind him. Its feathers were every color imaginable and its eyes were red as blood. A horrible stench filled the air, like a decaying body, and it leaned down, its eyes coming to rest at Jaskier’s height.

As their eyes met, Jaskier felt something inside him _crack_ and Melouge was suddenly quiet, though the fire still raged around them.

Jaskier had done it, he had won. Melouge’s time was up. It had wasted its energy on a fight with Geralt instead of leaving to find Princess Cirilla.

**_I can’t go back to the dark._ **

Melouge’s voice was quiet and broken.

Jaskier reached towards the fire and rested his forehead on its beak, somehow solid in the fire.

“I’m sorry.”

The fire screamed in his ears as it was slowly pulled upwards, Melouge’s form with it. Jaskier could feel a ripping sensation deep in his body as Melouge was pulled out of him and he gasped at it, jaw clenched, and teeth bared.

His body began to rise with the fire, his feet leaving the courtyard. Panic overtook him.

He was going with Melouge. He was going to spend eternity in the dark.

But something wrapped around his ankle and he looked down.

Geralt was there, physically holding him to this plane. Their eyes met and Jaskier gasped, both out of the sudden relief that he was safe and out of pain. Every inch of his body felt like it was being pulled upwards, every nerve in his body screaming.

He looked back up as the fire was pulled into a swarming vortex, black and jagged as if the very sky had been ripped open. Jaskier could still hear Melouge’s horrible screaming in his head.

The last of the fire was pulled away and there was a cracking sound, like an ancient tree breaking in a strong wind.

And then it was gone.

Jaskier fell out of the sky and into Geralt’s arms.

Their eyes met and Jaskier let out a shaky laugh before losing consciousness.

* * *

Geralt stared at the bard in his arms, feeling relief and terror all at the same time. He could hear Jaskier’s heart, steady but weak.

“We have to get him inside,” Geralt heard himself saying, though he didn’t move. He didn’t know if he _could_ move, so scared of hurting the body in his arms.

Vesemir, sensing Geralt’s panic, moved towards them and firmly pushed on his back until they were at a quick pace. They were in the infirmary before Geralt knew it.

“Put him on the bed,” Vesemir instructed him. Geralt followed the command, finding himself numb again; not the numb that he had experienced on the battlefield but a numb that stemmed from the weak heartbeat he could hear. A numb that helped steel himself against what he might find on that bed.

Jaskier’s arms were still bound behind his back so Geralt, as gently as he could, settled him onto his side, hands never leaving his arms. Vesemir pulled a small iron key out of his belt and unlatched the cuffs, gently prying them off of the wounded skin. He tucked them into his belt and motioned for Geralt to roll Jaskier onto his back.

Geralt maneuvered the bard’s arms to his side and gently rolled him.

Jaskier’s face seemed unmarred by his time possessed. The horrible veins of red were gone, not a scar to show for it. Vesemir pulled up Jaskier’s eyelids to show normal blue eyes underneath, pupils large and unresponsive.

Slowly and methodically, Vesemir stripped Jaskier of his clothes. Jaskier wore a loose chemise and leather pants that were ruined now, covered in patches of blood and spots that had been burned away. Geralt pulled a blanket up to Jaskier’s waist and tucked it around him.

Somehow the only marks on the man were where the dimeritium had touched his neck and wrists. Everything else remained unblemished, even the spots where Geralt had rammed his fists into him. His wrists and neck still had red and purple veins branching from where the metal had touched him.

Vesemir inspected the wounds, fingers running gently over the veins. He went to the medical cabinet and pulled a bottle of saline and a cloth then turned to Geralt, who was still next to the bed, staring down at the quiet body.

“Wash the wounds clean,” Vesemir instructed, handing him the equipment. “I’ll call your witch back. She probably has some type of magic that will heal him faster than letting his body do it on its own.”

Vesemir left the room and Geralt started to work, bending over as he cleaned. As he dabbed at the wound on Jaskier’s neck his mind stayed blank. He wasn’t going to think about what had happened or what was going to happen. He wasn’t going to think about the confrontation he knew was coming. He was only going to think about cleaning the blood from Jaskier’s neck. Once both wounds had been thoroughly rinsed Geralt pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat.

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, mind blank, until he heard footsteps descending the stairs from above.

He stood and turned as Ciri burst through the door and ran straight at him. She pushed her way into his arms and clung to him. Yennefer followed next, giving him a small nod before rounding the other side of the bed to get a look at Jaskier, then Eskel and Vesemir behind her.

“You weren’t even gone that long,” Geralt said, looking down at Ciri, though his hands encircled her like he couldn’t let go.

She glared back up at him. “I thought you were going to die,” she said. “I think I deserve a hug for that.”

“How’d you do it?” Eskel asked, stepping around to stand by Yennefer.

Geralt shook his head and turned, still holding Ciri firmly to himself. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted. “I think…” he hesitated and shook his head again. Ciri gave him an encouraging squeeze. “I think it was heartbroken.”

Yennefer and Eskel both snorted.

Geralt glared. “It came to find the one who had died centuries ago. When it learned that humans had killed it, that they could _be_ killed, it went nuts.”

“It was a Phoenix,” Vesemir said. He had come to stand beside Geralt and Ciri. “An ancient one, nothing like we have to today, but probably related. Someone called it to this realm to find Cirilla and give her to them, promising it free reign once it completed its task.”

Ciri shivered in Geralt’s arms. She looked down at Jaskier on the bed and tilted her head slightly.

“Dandelion?” she asked, looking closer. “Your friend the bard is _Dandelion_?”

Everyone looked at her, puzzled, except for Geralt who sighed. “He went by Dandelion in the Cintrian court,” Geralt explained. “Too many people wanted ‘Jaskier’ dead.” He looked down at his cub, brow furrowed. “How did you recognize him?”

“He played at the feasts celebrating the coming of winter,” she said. “Grandmother hated him but Eist invited him every season. He always had the most romantic songs.” She gazed down at the sleeping bard and sighed. “He didn’t come this past feast-time though. Eist was disappointed and had to make other arrangements when he didn’t show.”

Geralt didn’t want to think about Jaskier going to the feasts this past winter. He would have been caught in the slaughter. He also didn’t want to think about the implication that Jaskier had gone to visit his Child Surprise after they had parted ways every season, going to check up on her in his stubborn absence.

“Is he going to be alright?” she asked.

Everyone’s attention turned to Yennefer, who stood with her arms crossed. She looked over the bard, searching his face and chest. Finally, she reached her hand out and closed her eyes, concentrating.

Geralt held his breath and Ciri gripped his shirt, causing him to wince slightly. He was starting to feel the effects of his earlier fight.

“Well he isn’t dying,” she said at last. Geralt sighed, closing his eyes, allowing himself to feel a small amount of relief. “But I can’t put him into a healing sleep because he’s not _hurt_ , exactly.” She pursed her lips, thinking to herself. “It’s possible this is mental fatigue and he’ll work through it on his own. It’s also possible that his psyche broke during his time with the Phoenix and he’ll never wake up again.”

Geralt blanched and Ciri gasped.

There was a chance Jaskier might never wake up? 

But Geralt had seen Jaskier’s eyes after landing in his arms, he had heard Jaskier’s laugh.

“He’s in there,” Geralt forced himself to say. He looked down at Ciri. “I know him. He’ll be okay.”

Yennefer just shrugged and folded her arms again. “Whatever you say. I would like a recounting of everything that’s happened, though.”

Geralt’s eyes returned to the bard and shook his head. “Later.”

Yennefer gave an annoyed sighed. “Fine. Brood next to your bard for a while.” She looked him up and down for a moment. “Let me at least fix up some of those gashes, at least.”

Geralt huffed and nodded. Yennefer moved to his side and started peeling his shirt away. He heard Ciri gasp again and he looked down at himself. Did he really look that bad?

Then he saw the handprint on his chest, where Jaskier had slammed his burning hand down and forced Geralt away, and the one on his arm where Jaskier had gripped him. They did look bad.

Yennefer pursed her lips and then got to work.


	9. Chapter 9

Jaskier was back in that horrible void, the one he sat in whenever Melouge wanted to punish him and the usual hallucinations of death and destruction weren’t cutting it. Only, in this void, there was no oppressive weight holding him down, just a gentle calmness surrounding him. He floated, moving aimlessly, and had a sense of where his body was. He couldn’t make it move or get his eyes to open, but he could feel it, which was an improvement.

Far above him he could hear voices. Some he recognized. Geralt was there, grumbling but present. And Yennefer, which made his heart break again. He was glad he couldn’t cry in that inky darkness because he was certain he would wail if he could. After everything he had been through, his prize was being healed by _Yennefer?_

Melitele’s tits, he’d rather be dead.

A quieter voice spoke between them as well, one he thought must be Princess Cirilla. He was glad the child was safe. Despite her grandmother’s tough style, Cirilla was still sweet, like her mother had been. 

_“He’s in there_ ,” Geralt said. “ _I know him. He’ll be okay.”_

A hell of an assumption to make after a year of not seeing him, but it tugged on Jaskier’s heartstrings, nonetheless.

Jaskier was reminded of the fight suddenly. He had noticed the drawn punches and the lack of snapped bones at the beginning. Geralt hadn’t wanted to hurt him but Jaskier still wanted to shudder at the way it had felt, at the way _everything_ had felt. Part of him had hoped Geralt would just kill him so that he could be done with his living nightmare.

Jaskier had also seen Geralt’s eyes as he attacked at the end of their fight. They had been dead as he brought the dagger to Jaskier’s throat. Melouge had asked if he’d let Jaskier die and in response Geralt had pressed the dagger harder into his flesh.

He never wanted to see those eyes again.

_“Jaskier.”_

At first, he thought the voice was Geralt calling to him, until he realized the sound was coming from below.

Colors started rising around him, wonderful, terrible colors. The colors of the fire he had seen before Melouge had been banished from this realm.

And then he was standing in the courtyard again, the fire swirling around him and upwards but not touching him. Slowly the fire swirled backwards, revealing a bird as if born from the flames. It was only as tall as his chest, not the towering thing it had shown Jaskier in the fire, and there was nothing rotting on its body. Just a large, beautiful bird.

Melouge.

“Jaskier,” it said again, though its beak didn’t move to produce the sound.

“You’re gone,” Jaskier said. He wasn’t panicked the way he thought he should be, facing Melouge. Something about this seemed softer, as if the horrible fury that drove it had dispersed.

“I am,” it agreed. “I’m but an impression left by the creature you knew. I too will disappear soon.”

Jaskier nodded slowly then sat, crossing his legs and putting his hands in his lap. The fire around them continued to swirl into eternity.

“Is this your fire?” he asked, staring up at it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I was beautiful once, too,” it said, seeming to sigh. “Before…everything.”

“I could write a hundred ballads about this fire and never run out of material, although I’m sure my adoring fans would grow tired of me.” He was surprised to find himself speaking so casually. He eyed the creature, its eyes still on Jaskier. “When did you say you were leaving?”

It chuckled; the laugh melodic instead of the grating noise it had been before.

“Is this actually what you were like before you became a horrible monster?” Jaskier asked. “You were this sized and less…torturous?”

The bird ruffled its feathers slightly and bobbed it’s head up and down a few times. Jaskier was surprised how birdlike the creature was, despite knowing it was an actual bird. There had been something so familiar about the way it had interacted with him before that a part of Jaskier had assumed it was human.

“I should have guessed you were a bird,” Jaskier continued. “The way you talked. You called all of the people you let live pigeons.” Jaskier thought for a moment. “How many birds back then are still around today? Pigeons must have been around. Was there a huge species switch or is everything quite similar?”

“There are few species that survived in the same way. Such as the humans who were already here,” it nodded to him. “Your kind are almost gone.”

“My kind,” Jaskier snorted. “I’m just a human.”

“Just a human.” Jaskier could hear the humor in its voice. “Just a human.”

_“Jaskier.”_

That voice came from above.

Jaskier looked up. The sky had gone dark and the high fire that had stretched for an eternity upwards began to die. He looked back towards what used to be Melouge only to find it had vanished. With a sigh, Jaskier stood and stretched, delighting for a moment in the last of the warmth that remained around him, before finally the last of the fire blinked out and Jaskier was left in darkness again.

* * *

“Jaskier,” Geralt said.

Everyone had gone to bed hours ago but still Geralt remained by Jaskier’s side. He hadn’t touched the man since cleaning his wounds, unsure of what would be okay and what would be crossing a line.

He wasn’t sure Jaskier could hear him, or even knew he was there, but he spoke anyways.

“Jaskier, I’m…” Geralt trailed off. He had been trying to talk to Jaskier for hours now, wanting desperately to express how he felt but unable to find the right words, which was typical but now unacceptable. Jaskier deserved better. Geralt had to _be_ better.

“Jaskier,” he tried again. “I…” he trailed off again. Frustrated, he sighed and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the bed.

Jaskier’s heartbeat had slowly been getting stronger as the hours passed but he had yet to wake. A small part of him thought Yennefer could be right; Jaskier had perished under the weight of the Phoenix and now only his shell remained, living but not alive.

Geralt had heard Jaskier laugh though, before falling into this state. He had to still be in there. He couldn’t disappear before Geralt made things right.

Geralt sat up again, eyes on Jaskier once again.

“Jaskier. I shouldn’t have said those things,” he managed. “I was upset and I lashed out. I shouldn’t have said them. I shouldn’t have hurt you.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

Jaskier still didn’t stir and Geralt sighed again.

Footsteps announced the approach of someone, along with the smell of lilac and gooseberries. Yennefer appeared a moment later.

“Go to bed,” she demanded.

Geralt turned to look at her, both amused and annoyed at her presence.

“He won’t be waking up anytime soon and you’ve been up for days. I’ll sit with the little bard in your absence.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her.

“I won’t hurt him,” she huffed at him, more annoyed than he was at the prospect.

Geralt looked back at the bard and finally stood to relinquish his chair. Yennefer was right. The chances of Jaskier waking up in the handful of hours Geralt would allow himself to sleep were slim and he needed to be alert for when did wake. He hesitantly placed a hand on Jaskier’s arm, gave one final, hard look at Yennefer, and left the room.

He stood down the hall for a couple of minutes, making sure Yennefer wasn’t lying and stayed in the room, before moving up many flights of stairs to his room.

He stopped outside his door when he heard the slow heartbeat of his sleeping cub and sighed. Of course she hadn’t gone to her own room. The first month they had been at Kaer Morhen she wouldn’t sleep farther than a foot away from Geralt. It had taken weeks of coaxing her into the room down the hall from his to finally get her comfortable with it, and even then she still appeared in his room now and then.

He quietly slipped inside and went to change into different clothes. He knew he needed a bath; he was covered in sweat and debris from the courtyard, but now wasn’t the time. He would make his way down to the hot springs tomorrow if he found a moment. As he changed, he winced. Yennefer had healed most of his artificial wounds but the handprints on his chest and arm would leave scars. She had wrapped them in bandages and promised she would look at them again tomorrow to see if she could at least minimize their size. There was something horrible about those marks, reminders of what had happened to Jaskier, about his failure.

Geralt slipped into the other side of the bed and settled on his back. Ciri, feeling his presence, shifted so her arm was touching his, as she always needed some piece of them connected as she slept. Geralt didn’t mind. It was calming to know his cub was close. As he settled, he could feel the day wear on him. He was probably littered in marks from his battle but he hadn’t felt them until now.

He closed his eyes and let himself drift into a quick, mindless sleep.

Mere moments seemed to pass when his eyes opened but the sun had just breached the horizon which meant he had been asleep for hours. Ciri had cuddled up to him in her sleep and now her head was next to his on his pillow, snoring softly in his ear, causing him to smile. She hated when he brought up her snoring.

“I’m a princess,” she would say. “Princesses don’t snore.”

He carefully untangled his arm from hers and stood. Months ago, this would have awoken Ciri in seconds, causing her to go on high alert and jump out of bed. Now she just grumbled and turned to her other side.

Geralt left the room and went down into the infirmary.

Yennefer had been replaced by Eskel at some point. His brother had moved the chair to the other side of the bed so that he faced the door, though now his arms were crossed and his eyes were closed.

“Did Yennefer call you here to take her spot?” Geralt asked.

“I only arrived an hour ago,” Eskel responded, eyes still closed. “You just wake up late.”

Geralt snorted then quickly sobered as he moved towards the bed, putting a hand on Jaskier’s neck to feel his steady pulse. He had known walking towards the room that Jaskier was still asleep, but sight twisted his chest. How long could Jaskier go without food and water before he started to deteriorate?

Eskel, sensing Geralt’s souring mood, stood. “You should go get breakfast started,” he said, patting Geralt on the shoulder. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Geralt huffed at him. Eskel should be the one in the kitchen. Jaskier was Geralt’s bard, his responsibility.

Before he had a chance to say anything Vesemir’s voice cut through them, causing both men to start and turn towards the door. They hadn’t even heard the old Witcher approaching. “You both have chores to attend to,” Vesemir said, arms crossed. Geralt and Eskel both bowed their heads slightly, knowing Vesemir would scold them on their lack of attention to their surroundings later. “Just because we have a patient doesn’t mean you get to slack.” Geralt was ready to protest but Vesemir held up a hand. “We’ll each be checking in on the bard every hour. He doesn’t need us hovering.” Vesemir moved to the side and jerked his head towards the hall. “Go on.”

Geralt and Eskel left the room and started for the kitchen.

The day was monotonous and filled with worrying. Geralt’s mind never left Jaskier and it showed in his chores and training, causing slip-ups he never imagined he was capable of. After a third hit on is back from Ciri’s training sword, boosting his cub’s confidence to unsightly levels, Vesemir had sent him to the library to reshelf the books he had tossed aside during his mad rush to find the answer to saving Jaskier.

It wasn’t until that night at the dinner table that Ciri came bounding up the stairs, breathing hard in all of her excitement.

“Dandelion is awake!”

Geralt was the first one out of the room.


	10. Chapter 10

When he had opened his eyes, Jaskier had been greeted to the sight of Princess Cirilla, who had been in the process of reading the labels of tiny bottles next to his bed, searching for the right one. They had made eye contact and her eyes had grown to the size of balisse fruits before quickly running from the room.

After no more than ten heartbeats he could hear a mad rush of footsteps and Geralt burst through the door.

When their eyes had met the Witcher froze.

Behind him two more Witchers pushed into the room along with the very unwanted sight of Yennefer. They all came to the bed without so much as a glance to Geralt, though Princess Cirilla, who had been close behind, stopped next to him.

“It’s about time,” Yennefer said, taking the chair next to his bed. She reached to put a hand to his forehead but Jaskier startled and brushed it away.

“As lovely as it is to see an old woman caring for my needs, I’d prefer if you kept your hands to yourself, thank you,” Jaskier said, voice shaking only a little.

“Charming as ever,” she responded, their hands batting at each other for a moment before she was able to reach out and touch his head. “Stop moving, I’m trying to help you.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine that’s true,” he said, but stopped twisting away from her. If Geralt trusted her Jaskier knew he did too, whether he liked it or not. “What are you doing here, anyways? Isn’t there some nobleman you should be taking advantage of right now?”

Yennefer huffed at him and slowly hovered her hand along the entirety of his body, making Jaskier shiver. She wasn’t even touching him, but he imagined he could feel the magic trying to penetrate his body.

“Well, despite that mouth and your appearance, you seem to be fine,” she said, finally putting her hand in her lap.

Jaskier put a hand to his face, panic rising in him. Had the veins not gone down since Melouge left? Did he look like a monster now?

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help your crow’s feet, little bard.” Yennefer gave him the smallest smile and stood.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier huffed, mouth open as she turned to leave the room. “You’re –” he struggled to find words. “Well…you’re…ancient.” A truly horrible comeback that only caused her to snort before taking her leave.

Jaskier, pointedly ignoring Geralt, who was still staring at him by the door, turned to the other Witchers, both standing on the other side of his bed.

“Nice to see you didn’t die,” one of them said with a grin. The man had a terrifyingly large scar running down his face with dark greasy hair parted down the middle and a broad smile that offset the whole look. “Names Eskel.”

“Vesemir,” the other Witcher said. He had dark grey hair pulled back into a ponytail and his arms crossed and, if Jaskier had to guess, that one was where Geralt had gotten his horrible affinity for grunts and silence from.

“Jaskier,” he finally said.

“Oh, we’re aware,” Eskel said, grin still plastered to his face. “Geralt’s been talking about you for decades now.”

Jaskier felt an unwarranted blush rise to his cheeks and he began fiddling with the blanket spread out on his lap. He wasn’t used to being so uncomfortable around new people. Generally, Jaskier was the center of attention and he liked it that way. But for some reason there was an anxiety in his belly as these strange Witchers looked at him expectantly. “Yes well,” he said. “I suppose we have known each other for quite some time.”

“And you’re the one who wrote all the songs about Witchers,” Eskel continued, friendly as ever and seemingly oblivious to Jaskier’s uncomfortable blush. “That’s really helped us, _all_ of us. There are certainly still towns that will throw us out without a second thought, but coin has been easier to come by since you’ve started singing our praise.”

“We certainly owe you a debt,” Vesemir nodded. Jaskier expected him to say more but that seemed to be it.

“Hardly any credit can come to me,” Jaskier finally said. “It’s not hard to write a nice song here and there when your muse is–” he abruptly cut himself off. “Well, anyways, I’m glad you’ve found my songs have helped. That was the whole point of writing them.”

Eskel nodded encouragingly before glancing towards the door.

“We’ll give you time to rest,” Vesemir suddenly said. He turned and walked towards the door, nodding for Eskel to join him.

“Of course,” Eskel said. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.” He moved towards the door as well and put a hand on Princess Cirilla’s shoulder. She seemed to want to protest but a firm look made her reconsider and she left with Eskel.

Which left Geralt, who still stood by the door, staring at him.

Jaskier glanced at him for a moment but decided to investigate the room he was in and his appearance.

“Looks like a nice infirmary,” he said conversationally, letting his words fill the air. Words were familiar, safe. “Lots of fun beakers and cabinets. Very…Witcher-esk.” He looked down at himself then and glanced under the blanket. “Am I okay? Looks like I still have all of my toes and other bits, though my clothes seem to have gone and disappeared on me. I’m sure they were a wreck to look at though, as I don’t think I’ve bathed in…I don’t know how long.” Jaskier brought a hand to his face. “Gods, I’m growing a beard aren’t I. I hate having a beard. It never grows out the way I want it to –” he cut himself off again with a sigh.

Finally, he looked towards Geralt.

“Do I have crow’s feet?” Well, that wasn’t what he had meant to ask, but he supposed it was a start, a buildup to something bigger.

Geralt _visibly_ gulped and took a breath. He bowed his head slightly and moved towards the chair by Jaskier’s bed. He settled, his hands in his lap, looking like a schoolboy ready to be disciplined. He sighed and looked up to meet Jaskier’s eyes.

“Yes, you do.”

Jaskier stared at him, aghast. He could see the small smile tugging at the corners of Geralt’s mouth and he wanted to scream.

“You haven’t spoken to me in a _year_!” Jaskier exclaimed. “And this first thing you do is _grow a sense of humor_? I can’t believe you. The _nerve –_ ” but he cut himself off again and looked away. This wasn’t what he wanted to say, what he wanted to talk about. Jaskier sighed. “I could hear you, you know,” he finally said. “Hear you trying to apologize.”

Geralt didn’t say anything for a long moment. Jaskier gave him time to consider his words, knowing this conversation was going to be like trying to cut a tree down with a blade of grass.

“I…was angry,” Geralt finally managed to say, his eyes intensely focused on Jaskier’s face. “On the mountain. Not at you…at me. At Destiny. And I shouldn’t have blamed you. For any of it.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Jaskier agreed, keeping their eyes locked. He could tell Geralt wanted to shrink away from this in the way the Witcher’s body remained stiff, physically preventing himself from moving. “I didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t,” Geralt agreed.

Silence then.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Geralt huffed, eyebrows furrowed.

“And…?” Jaskier prodded.

Geralt huffed again. “And…” he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, his eyes closing for a brief moment before opening again. Jaskier could see him trying to build his resolve. “And I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

“And…?” Jaskier pushed.

“And I will never say something like that again.”

“And…?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “And?”

“And I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you and you consider me your best friend,” Jaskier said, a grin spreading out on his face like butter on warm bread.

Geralt huffed and shook his head, his face contorting slightly.

Jaskier’s growing warmth fizzled and his face fell.

Of course he had pushed it too far. When did he not?

“I suppose that was a bit much,” Jaskier said, trying his damnedest to backtrack. “I know you’ve got Cirilla and Yennefer –” Geralt snorted, interrupting the beginning of Jaskier’s tirade.

“Yennefer is only here because of Ciri,” Geralt said. “The last time I saw her was the last time you saw her.”

“That’s…hmm…” Jaskier didn’t know what to say to that. “That’s…” he settled on “…interesting.”

Geralt only nodded, letting the conversation lapse again.

“I heard you were in Cintra when it fell,” Jaskier said.

“I was,” Geralt nodded. Jaskier expectantly waited for more, nodding at Geralt to continue. “I…was in Cintra.”

“Your storytelling hasn’t improved since I last saw you,” Jaskier huffed, eyes narrowing. “I was hoping with a child in your life your tongue might loosen a bit.”

“You never told me you went to visit Ciri,” Geralt bit back. Jaskier flinched slightly with an embarrassed grin.

“I never _didn’t_ tell you, either,” he said. Geralt raised an eyebrow and Jaskier shrugged a little. “I would go to kick off the winter festivities. Calanthe hated me, almost had me killed when she saw me the first year I went, when the princess had been born. But Eist and Pavetta both enjoyed my music and had begged to let me stay. Despite what you’d think, Calanthe has her soft spots, and agreed she wouldn’t behead me. I was welcomed back each year, even after Pavetta and Duny…” he trailed off a little, remembering the first winter without the welcoming smile of Pavetta. She had been so young when she had died. “Calanthe made me swear to never speak of you or sing the songs of the Witchers.” Jaskier shrugged a little.

“You didn’t tell me,” was all Geralt could manage.

“Yes, well, you never took much interest in your Child Surprise. I thought _someone_ ought to.” Geralt flinched slightly at that, as if Jaskier had hit him, but it was the truth and Jaskier stood by it. “I always thought that the day you finally decided to listen to Destiny, Princess Cirilla might appreciate a friendly face.”

Geralt looked like he wanted to flinch again but held himself back, silent.

Jaskier sighed and went back to looking around the room, surprised at how tired this conversation was making him. “So, this is Kaer Morhen.” He could see Geralt nod out of the corner of his eye. “The courtyard was smaller than I expected it to be.” Geralt froze more than he already was and Jaskier looked at him, confused. “What?”

“You…remember what happened?”

Jaskier frowned. “Geralt…I remember everything that’s happened to me.”

* * *

Geralt had stopped breathing, his heart rapidly beating higher and higher in his throat. If Jaskier remembered everything Geralt had done to him, why was he sitting here talking about the past and about Cintra? Why was he not screaming and calling Geralt the monster that he rightfully was?

“I…” but Geralt couldn’t say anything, couldn’t begin to apologize for what had happened. He had held a blade to Jaskier’s throat, had let Melouge believe he would let him _die_. Jaskier remembered. No one could be forgiven for that.

Jaskier shrugged, eyes moving about the room around them again, ignoring Geralt’s rising panic. “Sometimes I wouldn’t be able to see what was going on,” Jaskier said conversationally. Geralt wanted to shake the man. Why was he still not screaming? “Melouge would deprive me of my senses and leave me in this….” Geralt could see Jaskier shudder at whatever memory was in his head and he started humming quietly. Geralt had to drop his eyes to his hands gripping his knees.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Geralt heard himself saying. It didn’t even sound like his voice.

Jaskier stopped humming and shrugged but dropped whatever it was he was trying to describe. “I saw what you did,” he said.

Geralt wanted to scream, to beat his fists into the wall and bloody his hands. But all he could do was sit and take whatever it was Jaskier was going to say to him.

“I saw you holding back, trying not to hurt me.”

Geralt looked up to warm eyes. If Witchers could produce tears he was certain he would be crying. Instead he just watched as Jaskier reached past the side of the bed and rested a gentle hand on his arm.

“I understand that if it were between me and Cirilla, Cirilla would win. But I saw you trying to save me too. Thank you, Geralt.”

Geralt felt something break inside him and lurched forward, body falling on top of the bard, arms wrapping their way around his chest. Jaskier grunted at the weight but his arms wrapped around Geralt’s shoulders anyways, burying his face into Geralt’s hair. He could feel Jaskier’s body shake and knew he was crying. For a moment, Geralt wished he could produce his own.

Instead he just shook, his body releasing the tension of worry he had been holding for days. Jaskier was safe and he forgave him. He didn’t think Geralt was a monster. He was even _thanking_ him for some reason.

“I should have never pushed you away,” he found himself saying into Jaskier’s chest. “I should have never treated you the way I did. It’s my fault you were attacked by this thing. It’s my fault any of this happened.”

“Oh hush,” Jaskier said, body still shaking. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s hand on his back, rubbing back and forth, trying to sooth him. “Stop talking like that.”

“It’s true,” Geralt insisted, pushing himself up and pulling back to see Jaskier’s tear stained face, red and beautiful. “And I won’t let you out of my sight again, Jaskier. I will never let you go.”

Jaskier hiccupped and laughed, his smile as bright as the sun. “I’m not going anywhere,” Jaskier laughed. His hands had moved to Geralt’s arms and he gave them a comforting squeeze.

Geralt’s breath caught and gave himself no time to think. “I love you,” he admitted. “I’ve never said it, never shown you how I felt.” He shook his head, eyes not leaving Jaskier’s face. “Witchers aren’t supposed to need anybody but…” he sighed and reached out a hand to caress Jaskier’s face. “I need you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s tears started falling again and he sighed, moving his hands to rest on either side of Geralt’s face. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted you to say,” he said. Then he was pulling Geralt forward, pressing his lips to Geralt’s, kissing with reckless abandon.

And Geralt kissed him back, a small smile on his face. He pressed everything he had into their kiss, their _first_ kiss. After a long moment, and sooner than he would have liked, Geralt pulled back. Jaskier had just woken up from a coma after spending at least a week possessed, he needed to show restraint.

“Jaskier we need to be gentle,” Geralt explained and Jaskier’s whiny protest as he backed his face away.

“Bollocks that,” Jaskier said, trying to pull Geralt closer again.

“I must insist.”

Jaskier gave an angry sigh and nodded, releasing his iron grip from the back of Geralt’s neck. Geralt carefully climbed off the bed and stood, hand still on Jaskier’s chest.

“You know,” Jaskier said, trying to sit situate himself. “I was really expecting you to tell me to go fuck off back to whatever hole I’d crawled out from under once I was conscious.”

“I still might,” Geralt said, the humor creeping through his words. Geralt didn’t think he would ever be able to tell Jaskier to fuck off again, though he’d be hard pressed to admit that.

Jaskier shot him with a glare then shook his head. “You’d best be careful,” he warned. “Once I’m out of this bed who know where I could crawl off too. There are two other Witchers here right?”

Geralt hummed slightly. “I would pay to watch you try and seduce Vesemir.”

Jaskier gave him a wicked grin and started to say something horribly indecent when Yennefer appeared back at the door, causing him to close his mouth and glare.

“If you two are quite done,” she said from the doorway. “Ciri has been insisting she get a chance to meet Dandelion.” She practically _purred_ the last word, eyes roaming Jaskier, who could only glare at her.

“It’s a good stage name,” he defended.

Geralt turned to Yennefer, pulling her attention back to him. “Later,” he said. “Right now, Jaskier needs to rest.”

“You tell her that,” she said. “I would like a word with our patient.”

Geralt turned to Jaskier, who was still glaring. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

“If she turns me into some horrible little animal after everything that I’ve been through I’m going to be furious, Geralt,” Jaskier warned.

“I’ll be gentle,” Yennefer said with a smile in Geralt’s direction, though she was still watching Jaskier.

Geralt sighed and left to find Ciri.


	11. Chapter 11

In the end, it turned out all Yennefer had wanted was a blood sample from Jaskier, stating she needed it to make sure _something, something, something_. Jaskier had stopped listening after she had said a couple words in Elder that sounded scientific and boring.

Now, Jaskier sat wrapped in a blanket in the courtyard watching Vesemir and Ciri train with practice swords as Geralt and Eskel replaced the broken stones from the fight. He hummed quietly to himself, a nonsense tune he had picked up from his university days, something about a fly and its love of shit.

Vesemir kept saying Jaskier had to pull his weight if he were to stay at the keep but he had yet to give Jaskier any type of chore, stating he didn’t want the bard dying on him. It had been two weeks since Jaskier had first come to Kaer Morhen and he was almost fully recovered, with only the small issue of always being cold. It was mid-summer and the sun was glaring down at his blanket wrapped form, but there was a coldness in his bones he couldn’t seem to shake.

Jaskier’s fingers played with the blanket and he longed for the comfort of his lute, still sitting somewhere by an abandoned campfire. Geralt had promised they would go find it once Jaskier was stronger but that wasn’t soon enough for him. The thing might have magic woven through its wood, but he was certain it wasn’t indestructible; it had rained at least once since he had parted with it and the longer it went alone the worse Jaskier felt.

“Bard,” Yennefer said from behind him, causing him to start.

“Do you mean to walk like the dead or is that just something that comes naturally?” he asked, looking up at her lean form. She wore a dress of black and violet with little jewels that caught the sunlight. Absently, he wondered if she owned anything that didn’t stand out in a crowd. Probably not, knowing her.

“We need to talk,” she said, ignoring the jab. He frowned and stood, turning to follow her back into the keep. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on his back, he always could these days, and turned to give him a small wave before following Yennefer.

He was still reeling from the sudden change in their relationship. Geralt had confessed, quite suddenly, his undying love for Jaskier, something that, apparently, he had _always_ felt. Jaskier had been just a moment away from telling Geralt that he would understand if he was not wanted at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had rarely talked about the keep and Jaskier knew he didn’t want Jaskier coming for the winter, so his presence there could only be seen as a burden.

Which wasn’t the case at all.

Apparently.

Since that moment in the infirmary, Geralt had been surprisingly protective, not allowing Jaskier out of the infirmary until he was certain Jaskier wouldn’t fall on his ass without assistance. Even then, Geralt had kept a steady grip on his arm whenever he could and always wanted to keep an eye on him. At night, Jaskier had to talk him into going to his room to sleep and even then Geralt still fell asleep next to his bed half of the time.

Even more frustrating was that Geralt wouldn’t touch him beyond keeping him upright and the occasional kiss when Jaskier gave him an over exaggerated pout. Every time Jaskier moved to do more Geralt would just grumble and say Jaskier was still recovering.

Which was true, but still.

Frustrating.

Yennefer led him into the library where a stack of books lay open on an expansive wooden table. Jaskier brushed his fingers over it he took a chair beside it, examining the detailed carvings. Everything in Kaer Morhen seemed to have a story to tell, even the furniture.

He glanced towards Yennefer who had taken a seat parallel his own. “What is it you’ve dragged me here to say?” Jaskier asked. “That you’ve finally seen the light to my charming ways and want to steal me off? Well I have new for you –”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Yennefer interrupted, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. “Every time I see you your mouth is moving faster than lightning.”

“Thank you,” he grinned. “I do pride myself on my never-ending wit.”

“Wit isn’t the word I would use, but it makes sense you need to find flattery somewhere, even if its from your own mouth.”

They stared at each other for a moment, glaring, before Jaskier finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. “So why _have_ you pulled me away, Yennefer?”

“I’ve analyzed the blood sample I took from you,” she said, her fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. It was funny to watch, as Jaskier would have assumed she wasn’t a fidgeter. She always seemed so cool and collected when he saw her normally, but these days the way she presented herself was so much more…human. “I’ve been using Vesemir’s lab so it took me a little longer than I would have liked. But I found something strange in my results.” She hesitated and Jaskier huffed.

“The anticipation is truly a delight, Yennefer,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Out with it.”

She huffed back at him. “Your blood had strange characteristics that I’ve only ever seen in Elven blood except you aren’t Elven.” She pulled a book off the desk and pushed it towards him, the page tabbed already. “This is the same book that talks about the first creature that had been pulled to our dimension to try and kill humans. In the section talking about the Elves who had called the thing, it says the creature had to jump from person to person.” She leaned over and pointed at something in Elder as if Jaskier could read it. “Only it doesn’t use the same word for human as those who appeared after the Conjunction of Spheres.”

“Alright…” Jaskier hesitated, trying to make her words click but failing miserably, “…which means…?”

Yennefer had the audacity to roll her eyes again, as if she had already explained what she meant perfectly. Gods, Jaskier didn’t like this woman. She pointed harder at the Elder script. “Which means this is a different type of human.”

Jaskier started humming to himself, the same tune about the fly and the shit. It was something he had started doing whenever someone brought up something he didn’t want to talk about. He didn’t intentionally do it; it was just easier to make his own noise than listen to the sudden loudness in his head. The only time he had been able to talk about what had happened were those first moments with Geralt after he had woken up.

“Jaskier, what did the Phoenix tell you?”

He shook his head and stood up, still humming. He wandered to the other side of the table, his fingers brushing against the engrained wood. It truly was a masterful work of art. Jaskier almost couldn’t believe it stayed in a room where only a handful of people ever got to see it.

Yennefer hadn’t moved from her seat, just watched as he moved around the table. Jaskier wasn’t sure what she thought of this new…thing he did. This avoidance. He had never been one to shy away from conflict but there was something about these memories that just…

He hummed louder.

Yennefer huffed, pulled herself out of her chair, and left the library.

Still Jaskier hummed.

* * *

Geralt settled in beside Jaskier and Ciri for dinner. Eskel had made a truly terrifying batch of stew that he wasn’t sure was edible, but Ciri was shoveling it into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in months. That girl eating might be just a little more terrifying than the stew. Geralt glanced towards Jaskier, who was having a lively conversation with Eskel but hadn’t seemed to touch the food, which didn’t come as a surprise. He hadn’t touched much food since he had woken up.

Yennefer and Vesemir spoke quietly to one another about some test result she had found before dissolving into a discussion about different lab techniques when analyzing blood samples. Earlier, Yennefer had come out of the keep just as he had placed the last stone in the courtyard and told him what had happened with Jaskier. Well, most of it anyways. She didn’t say what had triggered his sudden humming spell except that it had to do with his memories again. Jaskier wasn’t coping well. As soon as any mention of the Phoenix was brought up the man would either leave, start humming, or both. Geralt was thoroughly sick of the stupid little tune.

_“You have to talk to him,”_ Yennefer had told him. _“He can’t avoid this forever and there are things we could learn about magic from before the Conjunction that could help us in the war against Nilfgaard.”_

Geralt couldn’t possibly guess what Jaskier could tell her about magic from before the Conjunction. All he knew was that Jaskier was hurting, the memories _hurt_ him, and Geralt didn’t want to cause any further distress by making the man relive those experiences. He knew firsthand what it was like to experience trauma; perhaps not the same kind, but he understood the walls that went up around it.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe you fought off a succubus by yourself,” Eskel was saying.

“And won!” Jaskier exclaimed. “She had her talons in Geralt – I thought I had lost the poor man – before I pulled Geralt’s silver blade from his back sheath and sliced her in two!” Eskel was laughing like a fool and banging on the table. “It was truly a sight to behold. I’ve been working on a song about it actually –”

“That one doesn’t get a song,” Geralt growled, causing Eskel to burst into another bought of laughter. Jaskier joined in with a laugh, patting Geralt’s thigh then moving it to rest on his knee. It made Geralt’s heart beat a little faster, something he was sure the other Witchers in the room could hear. 

“I wouldn’t preform it for anybody but you,” Jaskier assured. “And possibly Eskel. Might be a little risqué for Ciri but –”

“That’s no fair!” Ciri protested. “You used to sing the Fishmonger’s Daughter all the time at court!”

“Oh, that’s true, princess,” Jaskier nodded. “But this would go into such vivid detail about that woman’s massive –” he was cut off by Geralt lightly hitting the back of his head. Jaskier just grinned wickedly at him and squeezed his knee.

Geralt looked at Ciri, who had gone back to shoveling bowls of partially edible stew into her mouth. Sometimes it was hard to believe she had been raised at court. Just a couple months with him and she was eating as if she had been a Witcher her whole life. Pride welled in him as she polished off her second bowl.

Ciri and Jaskier had taken well to each other, which made sense as they had known each other before Geralt had ever laid eyes on his Child Surprise. They talked about court sometimes, and fashion and other things Geralt would never dream to mention. He hadn’t realized how much Ciri missed the day to day life of court. She insisted, in front of him at least, that it had been dreadfully boring and no living person would ever want to sit through it, but the night before last he had overheard her talking with Jaskier. Geralt hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, he had only been doing his nightly routine of visiting the infirmary when he had heard her small voice carry through the door. She spoke of the feasts, and her tutors, and of Mousesack, and of Eist and Calanthe.

Geralt berated himself for not thinking of this sooner. Ciri had spoken about all of those things in length the nights following their meeting, but after that it had fallen to the wayside as they trekked back to Kaer Morhen and started her heavy training routines. Of course she would miss those things, those people. That had been her home up until very recently.

“I’m going to bed,” Vesemir said, standing. “Eskel, be sure to clean all of this up once everyone is done.”

“I cooked!” Eskel protested weakly. Vesemir didn’t bother responding, only nodded to everyone in turn and left.

“I’ll help, Eskel,” Ciri offered, finishing her third bowl.

“Much appreciated,” Eskel grinned.

“I’m off too, then,” Yennefer said, standing. “I’ve got some research I would like to finish up before the night is over.” She moved to the other side of the table to wrap her arms around Ciri. “Don’t stay up too late, love. We’ll be working on channeling your energy tomorrow and I need you rested for that.”

“Of course,” Ciri said, grinning up at Yennefer. Unlike Jaskier, Geralt was surprised how well Ciri and Yennefer got along, and it made him uncomfortable. He may trust Yennefer unconditionally, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Yennefer took her leave while Ciri went to help Eskel with the dishes.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, turning to straddle the bench they sat on. “I was wondering something.”

Geralt watched as his bard reached for his hand and put it between both of his own. He let a noncommittal _hmm_ loose, unsure of where this was going.

“Can I stay with you tonight? Please? I just can’t keep sleeping in that infirmary bed surrounded by that _smell_.” Jaskier crinkled his nose while Geralt stiffened. Jaskier sleep in his room? He didn’t want to admit how his heart sped at the thought. Jaskier sleep in his room. His _bed_. They had slept in many beds together but there was something different about this. This had been Geralt’s room for as long as he lived at Kaer Morhen as a full-fledged Witcher. This was the only spot in the world that Geralt considered his.

Jaskier continued talking, his eyes boring into Geralt’s. “Besides, you sleep next to me almost every night anyways. It would be _so_ much more comfortable if we just moved our party to your room.”

Geralt opened his mouth, wanting to say something along the lines of _‘I’m sorry Jaskier, I don’t know if I could control myself with you lying helplessly in my bed. I’ve been trying so hard to make sure you feel safe and comfortable but how far can I be pushed before I just attack you; especially now that I know these feelings I’ve been forcing down are accepted and even wanted?’_

All that came out was, “…hmm.”

Fuck.

Jaskier’s grin wilted slightly but he squeezed Geralt’s hand harder. “I promise I’ll behave,” he said. “No sex. I won’t even touch you.” He looked down to their conjoined hands and let them go. “I promise.”

While Geralt knew that was a blatant lie, as Jaskier couldn’t help but cuddle the nearest object in his sleep, Geralt slowly nodded his head. Jaskier’s smile lit up like the sun. Fuck, how Geralt did miss that smile.

“Fine,” Geralt agreed, reaching to reclaim one of Jaskier’s hands. “Only if you behave.”

Jaskier leaned in and pecked him on the cheek, causing Geralt’s face to warm and Jaskier’s grin to widen. “I promise.”


	12. Chapter 12

Jaskier held to his Witcher’s hand as they made their way up to Geralt’s room; at least, once Geralt had been assured that Ciri would go straight to bed after helping Eskel clean. Ciri had dramatically rolled her eyes, something Jaskier was certain she had picked up from him, and promised she would. Jaskier’s mouth was moving the entire time, talking about how excited he was to finally be sleeping on a decent mattress in a room that didn’t smell like rubbing alcohol.

Geralt opened the door and Jaskier wiggled from his grip and into the room, heading straight for the bed. He turned to face Geralt with a wide grin then let himself fall backwards onto the mattress, letting out an explicit moan the moment his body started sinking into the cool surface. It was so refreshing, so comfortable. Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time he had slept on a proper mattress.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed, stretching his arms out and rolling out his shoulder joints. “I can’t believe you have such a soft mattress! I was half expecting a block of stone covered by a thin cloth you’d call a blanket!”

Geralt _hmm_ -ed at him as he closed the door before moving to the hearth to stoke a fire for the night. Even in the middle of summer, the nights grew horribly cold, and Geralt needed to pile blanket upon blanket on Jaskier while he slept in the infirmary, although Jaskier knew from experience Geralt’s body heat mostly warmed him up as long as they were flush against each other. Yennefer had mentioned off-handedly that his body temperature might have something to do with the Phoenix’s fire leaving Jaskier’s body and that it would get better with time, but Jaskier had shrugged and said it wasn’t that big of a deal before leaving the room while humming.

“Oh, I can’t believe I’ve been sleeping on a stiff board when I could have been rolling around on _this_.” Jaskier’s voice twinkled with delight and he heard Geralt chuckle. The bed in the infirmary wasn’t that bad but it was small; during the few nights that Geralt agreed to climb into bed with him it was cramped and almost impossible to move, although Jaskier secretly loved the intimacy of it. The horrible medical smell – disinfectant and rubbing alcohol – ruined the room for him, though. He had needed to get out of there.

Once the fire was properly going Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, who’s eyes had been on him for a decent amount of time, appreciating the muscles of his back. Jaskier loved how openly he could stare at the Witcher now, especially knowing that Geralt _loved_ him. It was dizzying to think about. 

“We’re going to bed,” Geralt said matter-of-factly.

“I know,” Jaskier grinned.

And he did know that. While there was an undercurrent running along every nerve of his body, aching to do more than just cuddle against the person he had loved for so long, he would respect Geralt’s boundaries. Maybe Geralt didn’t want to have sex with him, maybe the excuses about letting Jaskier heal were just a cover. It was alright. Any piece he could get of Geralt was enough.

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t flirt.

He watched Geralt move to his wardrobe and pull his shirt off before he began searching the contents for something. Jaskier could see the marks on his chest and arm, both small circles roughly the size of his palm, from where Jaskier’s hand had burned him during their fight. It was hard to look at, and certainly made his stomach drop, but he knew Geralt didn’t blame him for that. Jaskier was trying not to blame himself as well.

Geralt gave a satisfying grunt and pulled out a pair pants and a loose nightshirt. He looked at them for a moment before tossing them at Jaskier.

“You can wear those,” Geralt said. Jaskier eyed the blue pants and suppressed a groan. Oh, how he longed for his normal travel clothes, left abandoned with his lute.

That thought sobered him and Jaskier pushed himself up, swinging his legs off the bed and turning to watch the fire. This fire was quite dull, normal yellows and reds swirling and crackling together. He was surprised to find that he didn’t flinch at the sound of fire, not the way…other things…made him freeze.

Without meaning to, Jaskier had stood and walked towards the fire, plopping down in front of the hearth to watch the flames lick at each other. The fire radiated his body and he felt truly warm for the first time since he had awoken. Even lying curled in Geralt’s arms couldn’t relieve the deep chill penetrating his bones. Just the fire.

Maybe…

“Jaskier!”

Geralt caught his hand and Jaskier looked up at worried eyes.

What had he been doing?

Jaskier blinked a couple of times and looked back at his hand, stuck in the spot Geralt had caught it. He had been reaching towards the fire, trying to grasp at the flames, trying to embrace the warmth.

Jaskier pulled his hand away and out of Geralt’s grasp.

“What were you doing!” Geralt voice was harsh and demanding and Jaskier flinched without meaning to. He could feel the Witcher soften beside him and sink to his knees. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean…I just…”

Jaskier shook his head, still staring at his hand. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“You can’t…with fire the way you could before–”

Jaskier started humming and he heard Geralt say something, but the memories had started swirling in his head again, the pictures of a forest burning, of a man’s eyes bulging. The sounds of crackling fire and of necks breaking and innocent pigeons dying. The horrible images Melouge had made him see, of Geralt dying with hateful eyes. And the void, the _nothingness_ that was Jaskier’s life. Just Melouge’s voice in his head, screaming at him, calling to him, whispering to him.

Jaskier had begun to rock gently as he hummed and Geralt said something else he didn’t hear. Tears began rolling down Jaskier’s face as he got lost in the memories and the nothingness.

Maybe this was just another trick. Maybe Melouge had never brought them to Kaer Morhen. Maybe Geralt didn’t love him. Maybe he was just being punished for not bending to the Phoenix’s will again.

Geralt turned Jaskier’s body away from the fire and towards him, gently cupping his face, and suddenly Jaskier could see Geralt’s eyes.

Bright and golden and worried.

“Breathe with me,” he heard Geralt say.

Jaskier tried but how could you breathe when you had no lungs?

“In and out,” Geralt continued, taking a deep breath in then slowly releasing it. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s warm breath on his face and suddenly he found his lungs. He tried taking a deep breath but it was so hard to grasp.

“Good job,” Jaskier heard. Geralt’s praise washed over him and he tried again.

In and out.

“You’re safe here,” Geralt said and Jaskier was able to let out a strained half-laugh, choking on the sound. “You’re safe here.”

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Jaskier found himself sitting in front of Geralt, breathing. Geralt’s thumb ran over the tear stains on Jaskier’s cheek, rubbing them away, and Jaskier leaned into the soft touch.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Geralt asked quietly.

Jaskier swallowed harshly and pursed his lips.

What had happened? He wasn’t quite sure. He had been sitting in front of the fire and then…

“I could see the people,” Jaskier finally said, wincing at the sound of his own voice and closing his eyes for a moment. He could still see after images behind his eyelids. “The people I murdered.” He breathed in deeply and slowly released it, finding Geralt’s steady gaze again.

“You didn’t murder them,” Geralt said. He was so strong when he spoke like that, so reassuring and trusting that Jaskier could almost believe him. Almost.

“I felt them die. I felt you die.”

He could see Geralt tense at the admittance but Jaskier didn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t dwell on anything. He tried breathing again but it seemed harder now.

“You don’t have to say anymore right now,” Geralt said, smoothing his hand over Jaskier’s cheek again. “We can try again later.”

Jaskier didn’t want to think about what that could mean but he nodded anyways.

That was a problem for another time.

* * *

Geralt lay with his arms wrapped firmly around his bard for a long time. He could feel Jaskier steadily breathe in and out as he slept, the rest of his body curled around Geralt, arms and legs all in contact with some part of his skin. Despite how cold Jaskier said he was, his skin was warm to the touch. The fire had died down almost entirely and Geralt let it, vowing to not light another one in the room until he knew Jaskier would be okay around it.

He was still reeling from Jaskier’s episode. The man had been joking and flirting with him one minute, then enraptured with the fire the next. Geralt had heard him move across the room and sit, but he had only thought Jaskier was cold again. He should have known better. A Phoenix is so inherently connected with fire; of course Jaskier was going to have an issue being so close to it.

Geralt had caught Jaskier’s hand just moments before he was close enough to burn himself and then Geralt had _yelled_ at him about it. If he were in a position to hit himself, he would. He had lost Jaskier once already because he couldn’t hold his anger back and then he had sworn never to do it again, only to turn around and get mad at him for something he couldn’t control.

The breathing technique he had used on Jaskier had been something Vesemir had shown him early on in his training. If you can control your breathing, your mind would follow the rhythm and you could gain control of your thoughts.

Watching Jaskier break down had been surreal, like he was watching a stranger in Jaskier’s body again. He had pushed that thought down quickly as he had watched Jaskier’s fingers dig into his arm, clawing at his own skin to get free as he rocked back and forth with tears running down his face.

Geralt didn’t know why he had pushed Jaskier to talk about what he had remembered during his breakdown. Part of it was probably Yennefer’s prompting for answers but he also knew Jaskier couldn’t go on ignoring what had happened. It had only been two weeks since the Phoenix had been banished and he couldn’t force Jaskier to talk about it without horrible consequences that he didn’t want to think about, but if Jaskier kept what happened to him bottled in his heart it would wither. His loving, singing, beautiful bard would shrivel into a husk of horrible emotions and memories.

Geralt wouldn’t let that happen, _couldn’t_ let that happen. He had only just gotten Jaskier back.

Holding Jaskier now made Geralt feel as if he were dreaming. There was a part of him that still couldn’t believe Jaskier had forgiven him so easily for what had happened in the courtyard or the words he had said on the mountain. Geralt had always known it, but his bard was trusting to a fault. Even after their first meeting, when Geralt had punched him none too gently in the stomach to make his point, Jaskier had continued on like an oblivious little idiot.

Though he was loathed to admit it, it had taken Geralt almost no time at all to become attached to him. The winters at Kaer Morhen seemed dull without the bard’s constant chatter and music following him around, but he couldn’t have brought Jaskier along. Humans were rarely a welcome sight in the keep and he wouldn’t have been able to imagine Vesemir’s reaction at the bard before now. He also knew he had to keep Jaskier at a distance. If he didn’t accompany Geralt to his home, or hear the stories of his makeshift family, maybe Jaskier would lose interest one winter and not meet up with him in the spring. Maybe Jaskier could have found a pretty wife in some castle and settled down.

Yet season after season they had found one another and Geralt’s feelings had only grown stronger. He had shoved them behind a wall in his mind and kept his words short and mean but Jaskier still came back, more enthusiastic than ever. And Jaskier was human. He would die so much sooner than Geralt. It was a heartbreak that Geralt wasn’t ready for and another one of the dozens of reasons he had promised not to tell Jaskier how he felt, not to let their relationship grow past something he could manage.

But the guilt he had felt in the courtyard, facing his bard with the red eyes and thinking he would never be able to tell him how he felt, how sorry he was for every mean word he had ever said…it had overpowered him. Then in the infirmary, when Jaskier had forgiven him. Geralt had planned on saving the bard then sending him off into the world again once Jaskier was well. He hadn’t expected the forgiveness and the love.

There was no one else on the continent Geralt could see himself loving, even after Jaskier’s last breath Geralt knew there would be no one else. Jaskier was more to him than just the sun shining through on a cloudy day, he was the entire blue sky surrounding him. He was the gentle breeze on a hot day. He was comfort and love and forgiveness. Geralt would never let him go.

He gently brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s temple, watching him sleep. Jaskier’s eyes moved back and forth beneath his eyelids as he dreamed. Geralt could only hope it was a good dream. He leaned his head down and kissed Jaskier’s hair before allowing himself to close his eyes and drift into a quiet sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for mature

Jaskier began avoiding Yennefer’s pity filled looks and Geralt’s prodding as the season changed from summer to fall. Jaskier had many more instances where he would completely lose himself in his memories and every time his loving Geralt would pull him back. But then Geralt would also ask questions, pushing Jaskier to give him information about what he had felt, what he had seen. At first, Jaskier had felt a sudden, burning hatred for Geralt. How _dare_ he try and pry Jaskier’s secrets from him. What he had been through was his burden to hold and his alone.

The sudden hatred had terrified him, and he knew he needed help. Even after the mountain, Jaskier hadn’t found himself hating Geralt; in fact, he had fully believed he could never hate Geralt. The hatred he felt for the man he loved was wrong; it was a response from a scared animal who didn’t know better, and he realized it immediately. He wasn’t going to let that emotion swell for long.

But it was a tiresome battle, so Jaskier found himself avoiding the problem altogether. Instead he asked Vesemir for chores, who was happy to give them to him. His first one had been cleaning the floors of the hot springs because _apparently_ Kaer Morhen had hot springs running along the dark caverns of its basement.

Jaskier had been in awe of the beautiful springs and found himself soaking in one of the basins after a solid scrubbing of the stone ground around it. He had a sneaking suspicion Vesemir had given him this job because he realized Jaskier needed something relaxing in his life, but he doubted the old Witcher would ever admit to such a thing.

Ciri often accompanied him during these chores, sneaking away from training or her own chores to keep him company. He found her presence soothing as they talked about mundane things, such as how neither of them cared for the cold and which courtly fashions had been disastrous ideas. She also talked to him about music, something he had found himself without for such a long time. He often sang to her, either songs he made up on the spot or old tunes she remembered from court. Sometimes she would sing along or bounce her hands to the beat, and others she would quietly listen with a soft smile on her face.

Singing seemed to heal something in him, one note at a time. Sometimes, while scrubbing at a wall in a deep, secluded part of the keep, he would find himself singing and crying. The songs he sang would be nothing another soul would ever get to hear for they held a deep sorrow in them that dug into his core, something that pulled at the horrible wounds in his chest and began mending them. These were only for him.

At the end of most days, he would sit beside Geralt and Ciri at the dinner table and share pointless, shallow jabs with Yennefer or try and pry stories out of Vesemir. Eskel was always happy to share old tales of Geralt – one night he had told a particularly raunchy story that had Jaskier spraying ale out of his nose and Yennefer covering Ciri’s ears. Usually, once everyone had eaten and Jaskier had finished cleaning the plates, he would find himself in Geralt’s room, falling asleep in Geralt’s arms, cradled in a loving embrace as Geralt whispered lovely words in his ears.

But some nights, when the hatred in him boiled over the top and he felt as if he would burst, he would find himself back in the infirmary, lying angrily on the bed. Geralt knew to leave him alone those nights. _Everyone_ knew to leave him alone those nights. Sometimes he would find himself breaking bottles and screaming, and other times he would sit next to the bed for hours, motionless and numb.

It wouldn’t be until the sun was high in the sky the next day that someone would knock on the door and slip in with a tray of food. Most of the time it was Geralt but occasionally Ciri would come get him and even Eskel once or twice, before the man had decided to leave for the Path once again. It had been a long discussion between the Witchers during dinner one evening. It was almost time for them to start bunkering down for winter but Nilfgaard was growing closer and, though they all agreed that they didn’t deal with human wars, it would be best to have someone watching. Lambert, the last of the Witchers who wintered at Kaer Morhen, had finally responded to Vesemir’s call and confirmed he was on his way back.

Jaskier had stood next to Geralt as they watched Eskel leave out the newly rebuilt gate. Jaskier had given him a promise to sing his succubus song when he returned and Ciri had hugged him until Geralt had needed to pry her away. Jaskier had seen the look on Ciri’s face and recognized tears in her eyes, but no one said a thing about it as Eskel disappeared into the surrounding forest.

That night, as Jaskier changed into clothes that still weren’t his, Geralt brought out a surprise.

“My lute!” Jaskier cried, pulling the instrument into his arms, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Oh my precious girl! Where have you been and how do you look so good?” He scattered kisses across the woodwork as he inspected the instrument.

“I asked Yennefer to go looking for it when she left for supplies,” Geralt said, sitting on the bed. “It had been picked up by a traveling merchant on his way back from market, along with most of your stuff.” Jaskier had been shaking his head slightly in disbelief. “It wasn’t hard to find…but the rest of your stuff has been scattered to the wind. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier could hear the sorrow in Geralt’s voice and almost couldn’t believe the man. “Bugger the rest of my stuff!” he exclaimed, setting the lute aside and flung himself into Geralt’s lap, legs straddling his hips and arms wrapping around his shoulders. “You brought back the only thing I need.” He pressed his lips against Geralt, grinning like a fool. “Besides you, of course.”

“Of course,” Geralt repeated, a smile creeping to his lips as Jaskier peppered him with kisses along his faces. Jaskier pulled back to look at the lute sitting beside Geralt again. He reached to stroke the strings, which would need replacing the moment he had a chance, and thought about that first adventure, the one that had made him certain Geralt was the path he needed to take.

“Do you remember that day?” he asked. Geralt nodded and Jaskier grinned. “I had a bump on my head from that little iron ball for weeks.”

“Not to mention the concussion,” Geralt reminded. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“Yes, and the concussion. But do you know what I remember most?” He looked back to Geralt’s eyes, a smile still on his lips. He stroked Geralt’s shoulder and Geralt shook his head. “I remember we had known each other for not more than an hour or so and you had told them to let me go, even though you were in as much trouble as me.”

Geralt _hmm_ -ed at him and nodded. “Well, you were just an annoying bard who had followed me into the lion’s den, so to speak.”

Jaskier laughed and shook his head. “Yes, an annoying bard who you didn’t care for…” Geralt moved to interrupt but Jaskier put a finger on his lips, silencing him, “…at the time,” he conceded. “And yet, you still bargained for my safety over your own. For a man you didn’t know.” Jaskier moved his hand back to Geralt’s shoulder. “And it’s not just me you’ve done that for. You’ve always been a man who protected others over yourself, even when they don’t deserve it.”

Geralt was silent as Jaskier talked, his eyes trained in on Jaskier’s mouth, unable to look him in his eyes. That wasn’t a surprise to Jaskier, he knew Geralt was never comfortable with his praises, not that it would stop him from showering his compliments on the Witcher.

Jaskier’s grin widened. “I love you, Geralt of Rivia,” he declared, not for the first time. “I love that you protect those that don’t deserve it. I love that you’re a kind and gentle man, even if you hide it behind grunts and huffs.” Geralt grunted and Jaskier laughed again. Gods, he missed laughing, missed this happy feeling that rolled around his body. He felt like himself in these moments, his old self that cared for nothing more than his next adventure.

Jaskier leaned back into Geralt’s space, close enough that they were breathing the same air. “I love you, Geralt, more than I have ever loved another, more than I _will_ ever love another. I want to stay by your side until the continent falls to dust and the worlds meet again.”

Without missing a beat, Geralt closed the distance for him, wrapping his arms tightly around Jaskier’s back, pressing their bodies together. Gods, this was the only place he ever wanted to be, pushed against Geralt’s body with the love of his life’s arms embracing him.

He meant what he said. Come Hell or high water, he loved Geralt more than he would ever love another soul.

* * *

Geralt had almost been unable to handle the love Jaskier was so freely giving him, the bard’s words filling his chest up to the point where he thought he’d burst. So, instead of ruining the moment with words that would never express what he felt, Geralt had pulled Jaskier into a heated kiss.

Gods, he was the luckiest man on the continent.

He stood, Jaskier’s legs coming around his body as he did so and turned to press Jaskier’s back into the mattress. He wanted to feel every part of Jaskier that he could, any part Jaskier was willing to give him.

Geralt could feel Jaskier’s grin on his mouth as they broke away from the kiss, legs falling to the sides of the bed. Geralt pulled his shirt over his head and looked down at his grinning bard, his eyes raking Geralt’s body. Jaskier hesitated on the mark on his chest, where one of his hands had burned him. Yennefer had been through numerous healing sessions with him to try and make both handprints smaller but there was only so much magic could do. Luckily, Jaskier didn’t dwell on it, his devilish grin returning.

“But Geralt,” Jaskier said in a mocking tone. He pushed himself farther back on the bed, supporting himself with his arms. “Aren’t I still healing?”

Geralt, who still stood next to the bed, narrowed his eyes. “Fuck healing,” he growled before climbing after Jaskier.

Jaskier yelped as Geralt grabbed his leg and pulled him closer, leaning down to press his lips to Jaskier’s ear.

“I’ve been waiting to pin you to this bed since you woke up.”

With their bodies pressed to close together, Geralt could feel his bard’s cock twitch at his words and he gave a wolfish grin that Jaskier couldn’t see. He bit down on Jaskier’s ear and pulled, causing Jaskier to make an obscene sound as the bard’s hands twisted in Geralt’s hair.

Geralt was by no means an animal in bed, not the way people expected a massive Witcher to be, but Gods if he wasn’t pent up from being unable to touch Jaskier the way he longed to. He would have time later to care for his bard and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, but as he felt Jaskier’s hands roughly pull at his hair and a moan escape his mouth, he knew what they both wanted.

“I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming my name, Jas,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier pulled back and grinned up at him, an evil glint in his eyes. “Promise?”

Unfortunately for Geralt, he hadn’t realized just how pent up he had been. It had gone faster than either of them had wanted, leaving Geralt with an embarrassed blush and Jaskier laughing good naturedly. Geralt had opened Jaskier up on his fingers with the lube by his bed before spreading him out on his cock. Geralt had only gotten a chance to thrust into Jaskier’s warm heat a couple of times when Jaskier had moaned his named _one time_ before Geralt came inside of him. The only reason Geralt wasn’t dead from embarrassment was that Jaskier had climaxed just moments later.

Geralt had cleaned them both up with a nearby cloth before lying on his back, pulling Jaskier onto his chest. Jaskier cuddled into Geralt’s neck afterwards, grinning like a fool, his hand running along Geralt’s jaw.

“I can usually last longer than that,” Geralt muttered and Jaskier laughed again, pushing up so their eyes could meet.

“I bet you can,” he teased, pinching Geralt’s arm. Geralt swatted at him and Jaskier laughed again. “We have all the time in the world, my love,” he said. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I just…” Geralt trailed off, frustrated. How could he explain his worries in a way that didn’t sound as depressing as they seemed?

“You just…?” Jaskier prompted. Geralt sighed and began stroking the skin on Jaskier’s back, making the man close his eyes for a moment and sigh in content.

“You…” Geralt tried again. “You’re human.” Jaskier’s eyes shot open to stare anxiously at Geralt and Geralt froze. Had he said something wrong? Was Jaskier about to disappear back into his own head? But Jaskier just nodded slowly and Geralt let his hand resume stroking Jaskier’s back, trying to relax the suddenly tense muscles. “You’re…not going to live as long as me, Jas. I’ve got centuries left to live…” he trailed off as Jaskier relaxed again, his eyes softening and his smile returning. “I just…I want to give you everything that I can before…” he couldn’t finish that sentence, couldn’t even think about Jaskier’s inevitable demise in a hypothetical sense.

“Geralt,” Jaskier murmured, his hand still tracing Geralt’s jaw. His thumb came up to Geralt’s mouth and Geralt pressed a kiss into his hand. “There’s…something I need to tell you. About me.” Geralt froze this time, his lips still pressed into Jaskier’s palm.

What could Jaskier possibly have to tell him? Had Yennefer found something in that blood sample she had taken so long ago and Jaskier hadn’t had the heart to tell him? Was Jaskier dying?

But Jaskier’s laugh floated through the air. “Calm down, Geralt, it isn’t a bad thing.” Jaskier’s palm moved to cup Geralt’s cheek and their eyes met once again. “It’s something I was told during…” he hummed for a moment, as if searching for a way around the thought. “Yennefer found something, in that book you found in the library awhile back. The Elves had some weird words for human or something along that line – Yennefer could explain it better than I can – but basically it confirms the…thing I was told.” Geralt knew Jaskier was babbling to try and find a way to tell him whatever important thing he wanted to without getting into too much detail about why he knew it. “And it’s something that makes sense I guess, but I never realized it and you never realized it. I’m actually surprised no one has ever mentioned it although I suppose people _do_ tell me I look young for my age –”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted. “What is it?”

“I’m not human,” Jaskier spit out. Geralt’s eyes widened, his hand frozen on Jaskier’s back. “I mean, I _am_ human, just not like…human-human. I’m a different type of human?”

Geralt couldn’t find his words. What did that even mean? He had known Jaskier for two decades, of _course_ he was human.

Jaskier and Geralt just stared at each other for a long while, neither one wanting to make the first move into the conversation.

Jaskier broke first. “Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you have anything to say to that?”

“Hmm.”

They rolled back into an uncomfortable silence for a long moment.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm.”

“Say something, please.”

Geralt swallowed. “What…kind of human are you?” he managed.

Jaskier’s eyes searched his for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter and collapsing fully on Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s hand still rested on Jaskier’s back, frozen where it was. He had no idea how to respond to these waves of emotions coming from Jaskier.

Jaskier pushed himself back up onto his elbows to meet Geralt’s eyes. “How old do I look?”

“You must be in your mid-forties now,” Geralt said, confused.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Jaskier huffed, rolling his eyes. “How old do I look, Geralt?”

Geralt studied his face for a moment. Despite Yennefer’s teasing, Jaskier didn’t have the crow’s feet someone in their mid-forties would have, or any other noticeable wrinkles, but Jaskier took very good care of his skin. Geralt’s eyes moved to his brown hair, curled by dried sweat from their previous activities. He supposed it was odd that Jaskier didn’t have any grey in his hair but, again, Jaskier primped and pampered so much he wouldn’t be surprised if he used some anti-greying product that had turned up in the market recently.

“I don’t know, Jas,” he admitted. “Ageless?”

Jaskier playful smacked him on the chest. “That’s a cheater’s answer, Geralt,” he snorted. “But thank you.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against Geralt’s before returning to his spot on Geralt’s chest. “I don’t look like I’m in my mid-forties. And after something like…what I went through,” he shrugged. “I would certainly be showing my age.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed into what might be a permanently confused face after this conversation. Had the Phoenix done something to Jaskier that had changed his very makeup? But Geralt’s amulet, sitting next to the bed, was silent.

“There were humans here,” Jaskier finally explained. “Before the worlds collided. Most of us have apparently died off but…we live for a long time, Geralt.”

Geralt felt his heart skip a beat and his breathing catch. Slowly he pushed Jaskier off of his chest so he could sit up.

“Yennefer has been looking into it, since I haven’t really been…helpful, to say the least.” Jaskier shrugged his shoulders slightly, his hands fiddling with the blanket that had fallen to the side.

“And you didn’t know?” Geralt finally asked, finding his voice. “What about your family?”

Jaskier shrugged again. “My grandmother might have been ancient by the time I was born,” he said, thoughtful. “She was my mother’s mother and she looked like a regular old grandmother to me, though I suppose if I think back, she didn’t actually seem that much older than my mother. She used to tell me stories of people who could live forever. I had thought they were just stories but…” he shook his head. “My mother died when I was only a couple of years old. The Red Death. My grandmother disappeared shortly after that and no one told me what happened to her.” Geralt could see the distant look in Jaskier’s eyes as he spoke. Geralt reached for his hand and squeezed it, trying to keep him grounded in the present. “My father remarried and had four daughters before I left for Oxenfurt at sixteen. He must have been human because he certainly looked his age when I left.” He grinned at Geralt and Geralt released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Jaskier talked about his home sometimes, but they had always been offhanded comments about a particular dessert he had grown up with, or a joke one of his sisters had told him when they were young.

Geralt rolled the new information around in his head, trying to think of the implication of it all. Then it clicked.

“That means you aren’t going to die,” Geralt finally realized.

“Not for a long, long time,” Jaskier smiled.

Geralt found himself leaning forward and wrapping his bard into a tight embrace.

Jaskier wasn’t going to die, not for a long time. Startled, Geralt realized Jaskier might even outlive him. He realized it was selfish, but he let himself rejoice in that fact. He would get the chance to grow old with the person he loved most in the world.

“I love you, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt breathed his bard in and hugged him closer.

“I love you too, Jaskier.”


	14. Epilogue

**_2 and a half years later_ **

Jaskier ducked underneath the swing of a sword, his eyes wide. He flung himself to the ground and tried scrambling away. He could hear the Nilfgaard soldier grunt as he swung the sword the other direction and started towards Jaskier.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelled as the sword came down next to his arm. He yelped and rolled onto his back, staring up at the angry man.

Geralt was suddenly there, pushing his sword through the soldier’s chest. The man grunted, his face confused, as he fell to his knees. Geralt pulled his blade from the man and brought it down on his head.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, reaching to pull Jaskier up by the front of his shirt and against his chest.

“Took you long enough, you big oaf,” Jaskier mumbled before sinking into the man with a sigh. Behind him Ciri stood with her arms crossed, her eyes on the dead solider.

The princess had started growing into herself after they had left Kaer Morhen six months prior, more confident in her skills now that she saw how capable she truly was. She was the rightful ruler of Cintra and had the training of both a Witcher and a mage. If Jaskier hadn’t considered the girl his own blood, he was certain she would scare him more than Calanthe had.

“What is a Nilfgaard soldier doing way up North?” Ciri asked. “The last I heard they had begun retreating back south since their last defeat.”

Geralt shrugged and Jaskier sighed.

Nilfgaard, unable to capture Cirilla after so much time trying, had suffered another serious blow at the hands of the mage army sweeping the continent. Mages across the kingdoms were standing up and pushing Nilfgaard out of their territories. Yennefer had disappeared months ago to help Tissaia de Vries strategize what they believed would be their last large-scale battle.

“Maybe he didn’t get the news?” Jaskier suggested.

“It doesn’t matter, it was just one lone soldier,” Geralt said.

“Mm…” Jaskier voiced. “Actually there were three.” Both Ciri and Geralt eyed him. “I took two down at our campsite before running off. This guy followed me out.”

Ciri grinned. “Way to go, Jaskier.”

“Are you hurt?” Geralt asked, pulling back to look him up and down. While Jaskier had a cut on his upper arm and a couple of bruises, he felt good.

“I’m just fine. We should pack up camp though,” Jaskier said, patting Geralt’s face. “I don’t want to sleep by two dead bodies tonight.”

In the end, Geralt and Ciri had buried the bodies on the edge of camp but they had stayed where they were. Roach hadn’t been harmed by the soldiers in the least, in fact she seemed to have not cared a bit when Jaskier was being attacked. Even after all this time, Roach still didn’t seem to like it when anybody but Geralt got too close. She was friendlier with Ciri than she was with Jaskier but Jaskier tried not to take it personally. Of course Geralt’s horse would love Geralt’s cub. It only made sense.

While Nilfgaard wasn’t a threat to them anymore, the soldier they had encountered, based off what they had taken off the bodies, had been deserters anyways. It was only happenstance that they had stumbled upon the campsite of the princess they had been looking for all this time.

Destiny truly was a funny thing.

Jaskier cuddled against Geralt after they had made a fire. Ciri had cooked the two rabbits they had caught while hunting – the reason Jaskier was alone at camp in the first place – and had quickly fallen asleep after that.

“Are you worried about seeing them again?” Geralt asked, his hand tracing a pattern on Jaskier’s arm.

Jaskier snorted. “Hardly. My father is old and my sisters don’t scare me.”

The first thing Jaskier had decided before leaving Kaer Morhen was that he wanted to find his grandmother, assuming she still lived. Geralt had taken to the idea immediately and, once their second winter at Kaer Morhen was over, they had left for Lettenhove. With the Nilfgaard army retreating, Ciri had begged to come with. She had been in the castle for more than two years doing nothing but vigorous training and she longed to see the world again. Geralt was hesitant at first but after a long talk with Jaskier and Vesemir, he had begrudgingly agreed to let her come.

Yennefer had accompanied them for the first two months, although it was only so she could keep training Ciri in the ways of Chaos. Jaskier hated watching them practice, the whole idea of magic had always made him uncomfortable and watching Ciri practice it made him shudder. He had become extremely protective of her; despite the fact she was the one who had to save him more often than not.

The only thing that truly hurt about their trip was Jaskier’s ruined reputation. Word had spread quickly of the destruction Melouge had left in its wake and the only body to be seen was Jaskier’s. Neither him nor Geralt had even considered the damage that expanded beyond the destruction of the lives Melouge had taken, too focused on their own little world within Kaer Morhen.

The first town hadn’t been the worst. Geralt and Jaskier had gone to the only inn in town to seek a room while Ciri waited with Roach when someone started asking questions after the Witcher and the bard. At first there had been prodding questions. _‘Who are you?’_ and _‘What are you doing in our town?’_ In the past, these were always aimed at Geralt, who would answer in grunts and glares before finding either submissive agreeance or a mob. Except the eyes had turned on Jaskier and they quickly grew hateful. Aside from a jilted lover or an angry spouse, it was the first time Jaskier had ever had stones thrown at him for the purpose of actually hurting him. Geralt had snarled at the townsfolk but Jaskier had quickly pulled him into a retreat.

The next town was the same, and the one after it had threatened him with the noose. They stayed out of towns after that, staying to the wilds and forests. On the occasions when they’d need to go to town for supplies or because they were low on coin and looking for a job, Jaskier would stay behind, pretending to compose a new song while trying not to think about the bulging eyes of a dead man.

When not confronted by townsfolk, Jaskier had been doing better since his encounter with the Phoenix. Memories were getting easier to accept and he rarely lost himself anymore. Sometimes a particular smell or word would cause him to lose focus but nothing as bad as the episodes from his first year at Kaer Morhen. The uncontrollable anger and hatred he had experienced had diminished as well, although too much prodding could cause it to bubble unexpectedly.

“I just hope my grandmother is still alive somewhere,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt squeezed his arm and Jaskier leaned his back even farther to get a look at his Witcher’s eyes. Two and a half years of knowing Geralt loved him and he still got butterflies in his stomach when their eyes met for too long.

“We’ll find her if she is.”

Jaskier settled back against Geralt’s chest and returned to watching the fire. Even after all this time, normal fire still seemed so dull to him. He had written a quiet ballad about the Phoenix fire that had made Ciri cry her eyes out and render Eskel speechless. Geralt had carried him to their bed that night and made the sweetest love to him that he’d ever experienced.

“I wonder what the world is going to be like in a hundred years,” Jaskier mused aloud. “Or two hundred or three hundred.”

He could feel Geralt’s chest move up and down as he chuckled. Jaskier had brought this up a number of times since telling Geralt he would live a long time. Yennefer had done more research into pre-conjunction humans in Aretuza now that she knew what to look for. There still wasn’t much information, but some records suggested pre-conjunction humans didn’t die of old age, that only illness and injury could kill them.

Jaskier didn’t like to think about the implication of that. Eternity was a long time, too long to comprehend. Besides that, he could have sworn his grandmother didn’t look like a young woman. It wouldn’t make sense that they just…didn’t die _._

Geralt had started stroking his arm again Jaskier shivered.

“Cold?” Geralt asked.

“A bit,” Jaskier admitted. The chill in his bones had worn down significantly in the past years, but sometimes, when the right thought hit him, he would realize he’d been cold the whole time and he’d just gotten good at ignoring it.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Geralt said, nudging Jaskier forward. “It will be warmer in the bedroll.”

“Fine,” Jaskier huffed, though he was pleased. “I _suppose_ we could snuggle up in the bedroll, body to body, unable to move away from each other.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at him before moving to retrieve the cots from where Roach nibbled at some grass.

Once they were settled in, Geralt’s arms firmly around Jaskier, his head tucked under Jaskier’s chin, did the coldness in Jaskier’s bones finally start to settle.

“Are you asleep?” Jaskier said after a moment.

Geralt sighed. “You know I’m not.”

Jaskier smiled to himself, staring up at the stars above them.

“I wonder what the sky looked like before regular people came here,” he mused.

Geralt made a noise but didn’t comment.

“The stars were probably different, don’t you think?”

“Are you going to go to sleep?” Geralt murmured.

Jaskier shrugged a little, watching the stars twinkle. “I wonder what pre-conjunction humans thought of the new sky. Everything was probably confusing. The animals had changed, there were monsters now, and strange creatures who looked eerily similar to them.”

Geralt sighed into Jaskier’s neck as Jaskier watched a star race across the sky and disappear.

“Oh, Geralt! A shooting star! Make a wish!”

“I wish you’d go to sleep.”

“Oh hush,” Jaskier said, batting the top of Geralt’s head with his chin. “I’ll make a wish then. I wish…” he hesitated, thinking. What did he want? What could there possibly be out there that he didn’t already have?

Geralt loved him and was resting in his arms.

Ciri was safe in her bedroll on the other side of the dying campfire.

They were a family, back on the Path.

What was it Jaskier could possibly want?

“I wish that we could do this forever,” he whispered.

Geralt pulled back and looked up at him.

Jaskier smiled and gave him a gentle kiss.

Yes, he wished they could do this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who supported this work, I truly appreciate the feedback I've been given. I am considering a sequel but it will be awhile until anything is posted so, for now, I will leave you with my thanks.


End file.
